prose: it’s complicated

I’m really not trying to over complicate things.  That would be complicide: murdering it by over complicating the point.  It’s not like I’m a compliphile, but neither am I compli-phobic.  If I even have a point to make, half the time at least the point itself is that there is a point.  A justifiable means to an end to a means, mostly.  Prose.  

It’s not that I think editing is a waste of time, no maybe it is.  That I think, that.  I think it’s just the thought that I haven’t gotten there yet.  Infinity is grains of sand, and some sweet home alacadabra wants to melt them down into a window.  As clear as day.  Infinity, a window, where would you go if you could see all the possibilities... step up, step forward, step right right right-on.  You’d dance, I know you would.  

Like a madcap poet.  Like you were being pushed and pulled out of the chains of freedom and into the freedom of your chosen slavery.  It’s not a headache, any more than the paradox of an ordinary word with two opposite or seemingly contradictory meanings.  To be AND not to be, that is the existential crisis.  How to keep in mind that no matter what you go through, it is not as hard nor as necessary as the spirit moving through you.

Still I’ll be the champion and try to champion freedom, instill the American Dream.  TM.  (not yet a corporate slogan, I’m lovin’ that) ... addicted to the most addictive of addictions.  The profitability of getting out of something that is what it is you’re getting out of it.  The willingness to be so stuck that you can’t not move, just a little bit.  Pardon the double negatives.  

If you had the freedom to choose, well you know you have that freedom, any time you need it, but you still continue to make the same choices.  That’s the path, the right path, the only path, the so called enslavement of the way before you.  And it may be a winding one, it might be a convoluted slice of topology, but as long as it is not the river winding its way down the only emptiness at the bottom of everything.  The path of least resistance one day slips and falls into the well.  That’s scary.  

You certainly don’t need the path of MOST resistance, that’s also scary.  Like the sky is actually falling and you can’t see past the inevitability no the actuality of being crushed by it.  But the freedom to choose limitations, the confidence to stick to them like feet to a path, the enthusiasm to never get stuck... Or if you do get stuck, to get out of it the getting out of it, like a paradox paradigm.  Every definition destroying itself by its own resonant frequency.  Getting mindblown... Especially “good times” though when you see the silhouette’s golden eclipse of the shadow of where you’ve been just like, kxssing open the long embrace of the dance of where you’re going to.

Yes, i too am in a relationship with myself, and yes, it’s complicated.