I bind my hands with coarse cotton wraps. Scabs and Wolff's Law reinforce my knuckles better than nylon and gentility ever will.
A metaphor for my life, maybe.
Dozens of times a day, I watch people battle their obsolescence. They fight it by armoring their children in suits of proxy conviction. Sent forth as their vicarious puppet.
I wage my war hand-to-hand. Split lip, bruised jaw. I learn my wisdom from first-hand wounds. I spit mouthfuls of disdain and blood.
Yes, these are scars from fighting.
Yes, I'm comfortable with that.
I am enlightened.
11:08 p.m. - 2015-04-15
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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