Dare I say this and go forward, or if I say anything like this at all, then let me say this with all I have.
Let me be clear and admit to the fear that you will turn away and laugh or reject me.
Or let me say this anyway.
Let me get this off my chest, despite the worry that you will turn away completely and never see me the same again.
And if this were true, then let me preface my entry by saying that I am someone with desires, no different from the fantasies that people rarely speak about.
Yes, I have done things that outrage the spectrum of intimate fantasy.
I have been part of the wild or more erotic things, which in my best assumption, this only makes me human.

I have tried to keep up. I have.
I’ve run and I’ve run and I’ve run to the point where I’ve run into myself at the door.
And what does this do for me?
I have burned the candle at both ends.
I ducked and stayed low to dodge the enemies and I hid.
I have surrendered and retreated.
And to what avail?

I ran as fast as I could and somehow, there are times when my legs are stuck, like they are in my one of my scary dreams.
Understand?

And the world just turns around.
Nothing stops. Not for a second.
Time is always moving, which makes me sound like a broken record because I always talk about the immovable presence of time.

The clock never stops ticking.
Or think if anything, I think about it like this:
A second is always a second and a minute is always a minute.
There will be no change or negotiating this fact.

Time does not stop.
And maybe this is not always a bad thing.

It makes sense to me how someone can lose their mind and yet, you hear things about cruel and unusual punishment and how this is not allowed. Perhaps not, but still, cruel and unusual punishment exists.
Yes it does, and rest assured, cruel and unusual punishment is alive and well.

Time for reflection . . . .
Sitting in a small cage, and secured by concrete walls with a wooden bench, a steel commode, and black-barred door that opened and rolled shut, there was an ungodly smell to the place. The smell was filthy like the sewer; bodies reeking, and the smell of other bathroom functions filled the air with a solid and steady mixture of cleaning solutions that failed to mask or disinfect and solve the odors.

The corridor is eerie, let alone the sound of overhead humming that comes from the fluorescent lighting, which warns that even light is remanufactured and stolen from its freedom.

It is April, the day after Easter Sunday.
The sky was beautiful as ever this morning but the winds were cool and the winter refuses to leave without leaving a few chills behind.
I noticed the sunrise is taking the stage earlier now.
I love that.
I noticed the return of the red-breasted robins as well, which I am far from opposed to because the robins spark the beginning of springtime, which is fine for me.

I think it was a long time ago.
Yes, it must have been.

I think this was back when the age of innocence was still innocent.
But somehow, I know that purity exists. I know there are good people out there.
I know because I have seen them arrive at times when I was alone or facing the consequences of life-long decisions.
I was that one too.

I know that I was better and smarter.
Perhaps maybe this is why I swore that I was stupid because deep down, I knew better. Of course, I did.
See, no one talks about the results of trauma or the symptoms of depression.
I knew that I was being lazy.
I knew it all too well.

I cannot say that I know what I believe or that I “definitively know” that yes, there is a God or that my God is right and yours is wrong.
I don’t know these things.
I don’t know if your God is stronger or mightier or that somehow, we’ve all been fed a narrative that draws us to believe in something stronger when we feel weakest.

I don’t know if we need to fight about the relevance or the existence of God.
But we do.

I wonder though.
What does it mean to go crazy? And when I say crazy, I don’t mean to go crazy in a bad regard or in the sense that this becomes clinical or sadly dangerous.
Not at all.

When I say crazy, I mean this in the best way possible. I say this because if I want to be one thing, or anything, I want to be the one who knows how to do this.
I want to know how to have fun.
I want to know how to let go and to let it all hang loose.
I want this.

There is no place like home
I agree . . .
Home
I love that world.
I love the feeling of it.
I love the idea that has been famously said, “be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.”
And once more, I agree.

I can say that I have lived in different places. I have lived in different apartments and houses.
I lived in different areas, and I have lived in different spots for a decent amount of time.
I lived where I lived, but out of any of them, I would not call too many them home.