The New Style <---All Respect to the Beastie Boys

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Learning to love yourself is hard shit when all you’ve ever felt, at best, was indifference for your corporeal and spiritual bodies. I have found that finding someone who gives a shit about you is almost useless if you don’t give a shit about yourself. I scripted my yesteryears like a psychic retelling of some shitty Lifetime movie made of plastic people that couldn’t even begin crack my emotional code. The shadows in the corners, stock characters really, blow in and out of the frame like so many shuffling ghosts. Elevation of debate, of unholy intellect, of tension became the name of the game to keep this kid from feeling his insides. The macrocosm replaced the microcosm. Inner space had been obliterated by outer space.

A quantum fear of feeling anything at all is now being squashed by the grand unified theory of love. And you know what? The shit hurts. The scars, simmering shimmery with itching madness, line the soul container, crisscrossing their painful patterns from beer to eternity. Crushing clutch. Engage transmission. Vent hostility. Smile. Pull the smile inside. Keep on grooving down the road. Leave the miles behind. Learn to live. Learn to give. The happiness is worth the hurting it may bring.