Insert from a book I was writing called Eat My Soul

Eat my soul, but put my feelings in a zip lock glad bag. Maybe I’ll store it in the freezer for a rainy day. It would probably get freezer burn before I’d use it again, but hey that’s life. With all it has to offer; Life – the treasures of life and the pleasures that bring forth- temporary stability as well as erroneous hope tends to bind those whom only wish to comfort your thoughts for the moment at hand, only to dispose them at their convenience may truly be an innocent act of passive affection, but never the less a disheartening act it is.

I feel that the innocence of words with honesty has been molested and manipulated, to a point that it weakens my mind to feel that, for every spoken or written word to be said would have to follow with assurance, rather than unhampered knowledge by way of the heart. “To know without the questions of sincerity”. Through out life I’ve heard promises that never seen the light of day. I myself have made promises that never surfaced. And though I have seized each expression with benefit and doubt, I must admit that I too have questioned sincerity. Perhaps it’s because I tend to rival the compassion of words with my own convictions.

Almost like a dog who sits patiently by the door waiting for its’ owner, I too sit around waiting for hope, but time does not seem to favor my corner, which brings me to ponder the truth behind hope. Once, I used to be of the opinion that, there would always be tomorrow, and that there would be a better luck the next time. Now I am starting to reveal to myself that my cycle of faith is a circle of misconception.

“Truth lives no longer in the eye of the beholder”. It too, now cowers in the shadows of society’s crutch. Well I say to hell with the crooked walking stick and all the mumbo jumbo that comes with it. Extra baggage is the way I see it. Bring me back to a time when commitment anchored the dream of companionship, and self- indulged goals backed by the thought of finance never thought to lay burden upon the eased flow of the mind. I wish of a time when words as well as actions, were cherished in high regards; rather than preoccupying the mind with thoughts of possible gain.

I often try to find understanding in the people around me to gain wisdom as well as knowledge from a different perspective, only to be pushed away by fear. I have also retreated to the boundaries of music, art, and magic to let people see myself in a characteristic way so they would get a general idea of me without getting to close. Twice I have let into my life the chance to understand me without character or walls, and both have been scorned with failure and uncertainty.

I now find myself not wanting to hide; but at the same time not wanting to try. I have resorted to the form of penmanship because it is hear that I can be myself. I find that by writing you can no longer eat my soul. My feelings are mine and shared only on paper. I have not given up hope in spite of the contents that lead to this point, but safe it is to say, romanticizing will probably never come out from my heart to another again; only by the silence of thought shall I whisper to the angel of my heart.



Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus and Elvis cruises I-95 eating Chicken Soup for the soul along with his peanut butter and banana sandwich, so what’s your point. A line is as straight as you draw it and as crooked, as you want to see it. A person should not have to turn to forms of self-help guidelines for happiness or inspiration to replenish the seeds of their soul. The soul can only be built by the terminology and understanding of life and not by the coat tails of public structure, that is what makes individuality, and individuality is what charms the soul. Trials and tribulations set forth the tears that water the seeds of wisdom, and the lessons learned become the soil of your enlightenment; in turn enlightenment gives structure. Twisted as it may be, my last recollection proved to be of the fact that a structure could not position itself as a platform without a form of support. So as a seed blossoms to a flower, it is my impression that the flower could not maintain life without water nor sunlight. Both of which would be considered support.

Truth is; effervescence is as shallow as a puddle smack dab in the middle of life and its winding road. The endless toil of fear that wrestles the heart, the cloudy thought that consumes the mind with misdirection and accusations are just a few of the obstacles along the path. Sooner or later all will have to face them, some more often that others do. Well Jack jumped the candlestick, Jack tumbled down the hill, and Jack climbed a beanstalk. So why does it always have to be Jack? Why does Jack have to hit the road? What is the terminology “You don’t know Jack”? I guess the answer is simple: just because”. No screw that, rewind the track that plays the song; its time to change the lyrics. Why should I let others dictate the tempo?

To play devils advocate is a way of perceiving the train of thought from opposite observation. And thought the halo that ponders above sits in a transgressed position, it is still a representation of what good lies within. Even with lack luster I feel the glistening sensation of a mind well hidden in passion for life and certitude, is the mind that chooses to breathe, so its time to let Jack out the frowning box. To think and act without extempore is a commensurable way of thought, and will always be the true lengths of an eased mind. Almost in an innocent-yet vulnerable way, to a point that every word and sound becomes a new instrument of genuine understanding; that is what I seek.

When every time seems like the first time; that is an invaluable feeling to be shared only once, in a person’s life. I feel that after the first, all other feelings that share a moment shall never compare for the fact that it is no longer original to your heart. So if another should tempt the feeling again, I shall never act upon it, for the fact that it would presumably end the same as the previous. As the critics say “Sequels are never as good as the original” so why try again. Better left alone rather than trying to extend a timeless script. Life is a story anyhow, one page after another, and the book has to end sooner or later. Sure you can turn back the pages and read them again, but the reality of it would be just a memory like yesterday’s news. Reading between the lines will not change the outcome of any situation nor will it bring solution to the next page entry.

So as we toil with expression, take the time to find what it is that should be spoken. Take the verbal passage to the final journey of your happiness, then reflect on times past and observe your behavior. It is at this time you will find that the road less traveled may sometimes soot your needs with efficiency. Though many strive for the same goal, not all take the same road to get there. And as we walk along the road, each obstacle will be a different formidable task, not to say that one problem would be harder than the other would, but that each problem will be a staple in life lessons.