Tuesday, July 23, 2013


It's supposed to be the limit and for the longest time I believed that, believed that there were finite ends to possibilities. Turns out I didn't know what the hell I was thinking or talking about. These days I find no reason to build ceilings. Let the sky rain and drench me with whatever falls from it. I no longer care how wet I get; in fact, I welcome the downpour.

Sometime in the past few weeks I shrugged off the advice of friends who've been trying to steer me clear of the deluge. Good intentions they have had — no one wants to watch a man who can't swim try to navigate rising waters. But I've needed to struggle. I've needed to flail and wail, throw my arms and lash out. It was the only way I could survive.

It was also the only way I could fully call bullshit on the idea of respecting limits. I did. I have. I've been a good boy. I've given people time with, time without. I've played along, shut up, acted in shadows — and for what? All I got out of the deal was being played and made a fool because I respected the limits another person placed on me. Lesson learned. Shame on me. I'll set the limits from now on. Punch past the sky, into the exosphere. Escape into space. Next stop: Mars.

1 comment:

Irvin said...

This is great!