Yo, Jimbo

what would you do if i sang you a song? would you stand up and walk out on me? telling everyone you encountered along your path - which, might i add, is littered with both physical manifestations and fragments in your mind that represent and embody ghosts in your past and skeletons in that sarcophagus you call a closet - that i gave it my best and my best wasn't enough or that you laughed so hard you could fill a visine bottle with tears and sell it to underage kids - claiming to them that it's LSD?

see, one time i said that i feel like there is evil all around me. that being said, i'd like to quote one of my favorite writers, mr seth avett, who expresses a similar view as he softly mutters words that when written seem as if they should be bellowed in fear: "i hope i don't sound too insane when i say there is darkness all around us."

well, seth, you don't to me.

recently i have noticed that it's quite easy to talk about truth through a cell phone, microphone, text message, email, letter, smoke signal, or [insert form of communication here] - it's EASY. recently i have also noticed that it's quite hard to tell the truth to someone when you KNOW it will hurt them.

how can something as idealistic as being completely honest and trying to rid yourself of the impurity of generations of pathological lying give way to such grief? why does telling the absolute and complete truth sometimes seem like a worse decision that continuing in quote, un-quote, harmless lies?

A: "i'm honest with you because i love you. i refuse to let you live a lie."

B: "your honesty depresses me, i resent you for it and i will never look at you the same."

hypothetical fucked contradiction on top of a bed made of wishy-washy self-esteem. the two continue to raise their son who resides at 14** S. Br*** Street in Louisville, KY. stop by and say hello.

* * * * * * * *

despite the overall demeanor of that piece, today feels like it might be a good day. i am working my final day of my work week and tomorrow i plan to enter a state of self-imposed reflection. it has been a long time since i have seen a friend and i wonder if it's even still alive. i need to find it.

let's assume a person has already acted on selfishness and made what is probably a mistake that is unfixable [spell check is telling me "unfixable" isn't a word]. it is not impossible to re-route the selfishness and re-align ourselves. i'm not much of a bible thumper anymore, but i always remind myself of how the apostle paul - who is nearly wholly responsible for the existence of christianity on the scale we know it - was a murderer of christians before he converted.

everyone knows the phoenix analogy. burst in to flame, rise from the ashes renewed.

two poets collectively forming a duo called cannibal ox flipped that analogy for me in a very serious way when i heard them make it. they pose this question: what happens when the PIGEON - the scummy, diseased, frowned upon, bottom-feeding PIGEON - dies and is resurrected a PHOENIX - the "highest of all things to ever have wings"?

a story of redemption. we're pigeons. we fuck up. when our mistakes catch up to us, we have two choices: remain a filthy pigeon happy to mope and wallow and pity party....or to become a phoenix - to let our mistakes and shape us into something commendable. i will admit when i am wrong and i will atone to myself and my peers, but i will not be bound by things i have done in the past. humans are so quick to believe the chains of regret, remorse, and conviction can not be unlocked. the judge, jury, and executioner all exist in the mirror and if you can convince that singular entity staring back at you who embodies all three that you have earned your freedom - well then, you HAVE earned your freedom.

to freedom. to the past remaining the past.