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Scrambled cities: If you're not gonna do the work(on your soul), then you might as well work til you die

 There are two tiers in normal life. Those who are survive and those who thrive.  But nothing is a mistake in life: Nothing comes by chance. You have to prepare for it.  If you thought life was about making money and beating out the Jones's, you've lost already.  Life is: Desire for connection. All unhealthy competition is isolating. We live in an isolated-enough world already. This connection comes from a surprising place: Self-acceptance. A lot of us need to go back to the classroom. A lot of us need to take a silent breather and check in with what we need. This takes serious work. It's the real work. It relies on respect for others and self-respect.  A lot of people in the self-help community try to push the self aside: Manning up is the only side of it they see. But there are certain non-negotiables in this life. Certain things we can't cheat ourselves out of. We are not a piece of meat being acted on.    However, this is where God comes in. Some o...
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Some can't bear the sadness anymore

"I just can't bear the sadness anymore!" The voice I hear in that statement is my mother's. She was against all types of unfairness in life even though she at times could be unfair herself. But that was possibly as a result of, not in spite of the sadness she felt. When you are conflicted this way, you fight against yourself. Your very body fights against itself. 

Sometimes you just have enough. The world has shattered into a million different pieces and you cannot fathom any goodness in the world or its children. It's all punctuated - this sense of brokenness - by an almost indelible sense of pain.

I stare now at the white wall of a Seven Eleven. It's an artificial neatness toward which I gravitate. It reminds me; maybe, of England's snows. It reminds me of an art gallery. 

The principles of displacement are brought to bear. When one thing shatters, another gains higher relevancy. For instance. The girl in my life right now, who I'm about to write off completely, has sought relevancy elsewhere after her car got smashed. 

My life, having little money in it; little health, and also little joy, has sought higher relevancy in her. 

Thus the ground is ripe for disappointment; at least on my end. On her end she is finding solace in something else. Who knows what? Probably some level of even harder work about which I know almost nothing. .  . Some level of pain to which I'll not care to relate. I'm a selfish bastard after all. And so is she. 




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