It came from the pent up filth in me, it came from the humanity in me. I couldn't believe how easy it is to try, when you have nothing to care for.
There is more than one kind of drunkenness, and any drunken state is ugly. Like a dog going back to its vomit... like a drunkard that can't let go of a bottle. I don't want to forget any part of me. I don't want to deny the parts of me that will stay broken, until I have rest.
I thought I could look the other way about the fact that I can't enjoy or be free with you, or my furryness, with my self. It's funny, where and when life chooses to point out these lessons to you. I can't... I can't simply enjoy sharing parts of me that I'm dying to share, because I cannot sit comfortably with it. Sometimes I look... at me, within me, at the past selves of me, and I squint through the fog. I wonder at times, if the choices I took that landed me here and now, were right. In other matters I cannot explain myself, blindness makes me dumb.

One other thing I did learn today, that is burning in my mind, is the mess I have made along with so many others about our collective selves, our culture? Who are we? It doesn't matter. What must we demand? Nothing more. Should we be heard? We are already too loud. I'm trying to be passionate, compassionate, realistic, persuasive, and appealing, but I helped wreck this notion of furryness, put my black mark in it too, and roll on my back, burning. Little is perfect, and only a little more in passable condition, but thank goodness our culture is passable still. But who the hell am I to ask or question or demand that any part of this should change? Right? Who am I to try to shout above the masses of you, about some idea, that's as vapid and temporal as the breaths you take? But I see, I see what I could be and what you could be and...look around you. What are we doing with infantile demands to rights or following trends, when we could all be looking inside ourselves to find the meanings of who we are, and what our companions mean to us.

But even this is temporal, this painting, this writing, this journal. It's all invisible and will never be seen b the people that need to see it. Tomorrow it'll appear ugly to me, and be a weight on my shoulder. It's begging for attention, for pity. But... *sniff* this points to part of me that in one way or another, I'm glad I have, glad to know. I'm glad, I can be content and comfortable with my own fear and sadness, and negative emotion. If I can be safe when I'm at the bottom, then I don't need to fear the fall, or the sudden stop at the end. That's how I learned to work. I've got a lot of fears, of tensions, of weights and pains that I carry, and pretend that it doesn't weigh anything. But there's some time when I have to let it down off me, and then it hurts, while I rest, till I take it up again. I'll let go eventually. Just, not yet.

One last note, or two. I grew up very adversarial (adversarial is my favorite word today). It was always me against the world. Live or die. Win or shame. But now my sense of... drive, feels very old, and I am done being adversarial. I'd rather whine belly up than fight, more or less. But I'd rather turn belly up, than destroy myself, locked in battle. And I think you need to learn the same. Adversariality, feuds, grudges, longstanding hate erode what makes a person, so that they don't even know they're losing the best of themselves, until they fall to their knees, consumed with envy and anger, wondering how they ever got there. I wonder how I ever lost the bouncy (and overly emotional, but still preferable) me that I was, five years ago. I remember it. Vaguely... and one of my biggest fears, is that I've forgotten how to get back there. That I'll never get back there. That I'll start to grow old from anger, never again knowing happy bouncy. I mean, that's something to fear. There are worse things externally that could happen, many more... but if you look inside yourself, if you see the flames and sharp rocks and thread that you never knew you hung by, fear of the internal would surprise you. I carry hope that I can still be better, like I used to be. I hope that I can shed this fear and sadness and stressing and crying, by letting it out. I need it. It helps. It relieves. It is a place where it's okay to break. I'd like to beg, if you agree, to first look inside yourself, and ask if you ever felt something similar. Then, I'd pathetically beg for you to share this story and the picture if you think it's worth it to share the impression it gave you. Life taught me at times, when you can't or won't, if you cannot do it, sometimes you need to beg. Learning how to beg has given me the ability to be calm at the bottom, not to convulse in runaway fear, to say it's okay to fail and to show that I'm in pain. The flipside is that I've also learned how to get up again--not easy, but one of the best things learnable. You--I need both to be me, to succeed, to succeed at failing.
I'll let you go. I need to go let it out. I hope a little too, that I can dream about someone close that I haven't seen in a while. *rests, letting it out silently* I am sorry if I ruined anything worse for you though. I didn't mean to, I'm really sorry v_v


i thought that being strong meant never losing your self-control
but i'm just drunk enough
to let go of my pain
to hell with my pride
let it fall like rain
from my eyes
tonight i wanna cry
-keith urban