Monday, March 14, 2011

A Final Beginning

Turn to the monitor.

Keep your back straight and eyes affixed.

Reattach your fingers to the keys, don't let them wander.


Words contain meaning, alter perspective and change the world. Our history of literature is the gospel of our race; an endless stream of stories that may illustrate the heart behind our great adventure.

The drums were/are my father's domain. Dance, my mother's. Each art of expression had its beats and pauses. Each was a language to demonstrate meaning and could alter perspective. And if they were not aimed at changing the world entirely, the would have nevertheless influenced worlds within. I am a child of this legacy.

I have a discipline to master. Something that I hope will allow a cascade of disciplines to be mastered; forming perhaps a Russian doll of ability that that the spirit will utilize to affect personal change.

In the next month, year, or in this lifetime at least, I must prove to myself that nothing I've come with has been worth forfeiting to leisure and reluctance . . .

We are either purveyors of ideology and religions of practice (through structures like nobility, greed, abuse, humility, fear and love). Or we are consumers of them, perpetuating their relevance through our own digestion of the experience. We are either creating the world in the image we see fit, or creating it in the image someone else see's fit. Our duty is to choose.

Within my country, America, there are opportunities and evils. There are great magics and institutions and heroes and great chaos as well. The dance is mindless it seems sometimes, the truth of virtues never quite expressed but always behind our decisions and motives. Never something that can't be forgotten behind good gossip, a good movie, video game or a chance to shop or feed on something exclusive and delicate; like a gourmet hamburger or a stranger.

I'm 27 now. I can't do this forever. At some point my soul has to stretch and take hold and be allowed its way, away from distraction, toward sacrifice and the true rewards forged in the industry of man. What intelligence can their be if it is not demonstrated in the evolution of status and in the rising of the environment around the source? How can I be happy when I'm unemployed, along with my mom and my girl, with a desire to write but not the will? How can I claim to exist if my actions afford no consequence in the walls of my tiny apartment, not built for me but good enough for now and eternity apparently?

It is time to heal the faith in me. There is no great obstacle except every moment of indecision that I may own in between the acts of saving my meaning. The point is: the moment is precious, every one contains a chance to uphold responsibility and running from it has created a great many lies that are no longer worthy of maintaining.

Vibrancy comes from conviction.