Don’t complain, stay in your lane, the busier you are the less you notice the pain. Is it crazy to remember? Is it ignorant to forget? How many have you known that you never really met? I’m losing my identity and I’m not supposed to care, I’m just supposed to watch it all dissolve into the air. Voted off the island, weakest link in the tribe, back to that flat earth carnival ride. My vocation is disposable but my addictions are permanent, you say I’m not broken but I feel perma-bent. I was told I can’t heal in the places that hurt me. Society? Workplace culture and hierarchy? Either way I still went to my crazy school graduation ceremony.

Often when I do talk lately the response seems as if I’m the last one to the knowledge and perception party. Even the spectrum is on a spectrum depending on which spectrum the spectrum is spectrumming. I say the sky is falling but that’s evidently not my growing concern. Best I leave that business to the professionals.

Since I now have workers block I guess I should be writing before I’m charged with dereliction of duty. After all, the cat’s got my balls, not my tongue, so right this way…

Surveys have said and studies have shown that the “expert” speaks fashionable idiom. Opinions are cheap but they’re certainly not free, investigate what you propagate before speaking absently. What upsets you? What have you seen? I’m happy if that list tops with melted ice cream but it doesn’t mean you lit the first beam in the burning bridge to my dying dream. It feels dirty and obscene to be turning green and losing steam but it’s still my choice how I’d like to come clean. The cat’s got my balls but not my tongue, he ate the caged bird before he’d sung, my purpose has only just begun for the purpose is now numero one. Authenticity and self-apoplexy balanced in a blender of human taxonomy, wait and see, spin patiently, see what labels stick to me and which ones might stay permanently.

Every injury needs an insult. Even the invisible ones (although, for the record, I’ve had a few looks over the past few years that kind of lead me to believe that’s not entirely true. It’s more like people don’t know that that’s what they’re seeing, not so much that it can’t be seen). I’m so anxious but I’m so drained I don’t have the energy for it anymore but it just keeps coming anyway. It’s like I’ve spent my life compelled to keep giving out food in a dog-eat-dog world where no one cares about the hands, and now I have to conceal the shaking and live as if my hands were never involved. Who’s going to win the battle between impatience and rage? Well, rage is far more dedicated, I know that much. Far more focused too.

Trust me.