Bring Me Release

In strange moments and at totally uncalled for circumstance and time, random memories of my youth, will dance across my consciousness. I'm not one of those that mentally suppresses a childhood passed. In the memories my younger days, lie quite the fair share of pain, shame and remorse, that I choose to not share with many - if any - but I never hide from myself. My younger days are mine and I hold onto them as proudly (and arrogantly) as I hold onto the man I am today. They are the truth and are therefore never avoided. However, considering how far beyond that fat little kid I've moved, I am understandably surprised when lessons learnt back then, finally, and for the first time at all, have application, considering the so very different context I find myself.

Breakfast of Champions

First let me start with this:


I never knew what this blog was supposed to be. I did, however, know what I didn't want it to be. I never wanted it to become a lyrical, yet accurate journal - a sort of document that documented my traverse across distance and space. Sure, there are stories from my days -my days of traverse- that make it up onto here, but my life and the dramas that pull me into it, need not be recorded. I live them and they pass. My life and my writing, whilst at times interwoven, are very much separate whirlpools and I wish to keep them that way.


This being said, there are times when one of these whirlpools spins out, over and upon the other. The past few weeks have been such a time. In fact, if I am true and honest (something  I very much like to avoid on this here page), the past few months have seen a steady increase of said swirling and distracting mass of water - the one that is Real Life. I would like to say that I am out the other end of this particular episode but, what I like and what is actual is not necessarily in perfect alignment here.


What I am trying to say, is that if my life outside this page, has unconsciously slipped onto it (and it has - not in the words and paragraphs you are thinking of now nor would be obvious to you, but it has still stained it nonetheless), I am sorry. I am. I am not so insecure that I am unable to raise my hand and admit to culpability. It may very well happen again, for I know not why I make so many of the same mistakes over and over again and when this does happen, once again, I will raise my hand in admission.


I want you to like the blog. I want you to read it. I want you to return to it. I want you to demand (as some of you have) that I return to it. And I know what I don't want it to be.




Ok, now on with the business of the day.