Friday, October 17, 2008


Does it read? You know...The "thing". Does it read? Does the bullshit, brilliance, or bravado we're pouring out? Does any of that...well...translate?

Somewhere around the 10th grade or so, I learned to stop caring what others were thinking. That's a bit of a problem when you think you've finally reached a "certain age" and you're capable of figuring out what he may be thinking. Especially if you often refer to yourself as an extremely intuitive judge of character.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am completely aware that most men are shits (oftentimes myself included), crippled by various emotional incapacities and also a certain sense of "entitlement", yet I find it quite compelling to "figure out". I keep playing the game. We all do. We have to.

There is the common adage amongst my friends that if you keep "thinking about the game", then...well..."You've lost the game". And I do believe that. Don't play the game. Don't think about the game. Just accept the fact that we're all caught up in the middle of it and re-act accordingly....

Meaning = React in accordance with what your heart feels and your mind interprets.

Never fight that balance. Always fight to find it and keep it. That struggle is how we measure passion.

Tracy Chapman said in one of her earliest albums....

I won't call it love
But it feels good to have passion in my life.
If there's a battle
I hope my head always defers to my heart
In matters of the heart.

I enjoy the battle. I have to keep fighting. He's too good not to. I have to keep fighting. I know he would fight for me. I'm going to keep measuring passion. And I know sometimes I'm going to mess up, and mis-read, and be misunderstood. I wouldn't want it any other way.
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