How Do You Continue To Live, When All Is To Die.

It must really bother Aaron Lewis that he is back to almost bar like performances. That man’s got more talent in his pinky, than I got in my whole body. And he is back to where he started, almost. Yeah a whole lot richer, but still pandering to the same types of assholes in the crowd that love to get the attention on them and try to make you look like an ass. And he’s falling for it. I see him act like a child in front of an audience it disgusts me.

Ego is self-defeating. I see it around me all the time. Yet I cannot let go of my own ego. I fuck things up on a regular basis and then I stomp around like a fucking toddler. And all it takes is for me to be humble, understanding, and to see things from other people’s perspectives…

really.. just very easy… DON’T BE A DICK.

Be vulnerable.

Which, of course means being open to being hurt.

Um… again? Excusez-moi? Pardon mademoiselle? Translated in English: Ummm.. pardon me, fuck you?

That shit never goes away. Memory of emotional pain always lies in wait, serving as a ominous warning or devious foreshadowing of some eminent foreboding danger.

“Don’t,” it hisses, “Recoil, run. Before it is too late, before it has its razor sharp claws embedded deep into your entrails, ravaging your insides, tearing your bowels apart. For it’s ultimate pupose, is only to shred through your lungs, stealing your every breath, so it can pulverize your still beating heart, and feel your life blood gushing out to warm it’s own lifeless fingers.”

It always seems to be much more readily available in my memories. The pain, the anguish. The times I have been mortally wounded by rejection, betrayal, deceit, or unkind words.

I have to struggle to remind myself of the few moments that I have truly experienced love. And in those moments, I remember how richly rewarded they had left me feeling. As if nothing in this life had really mattered before those moments. How ultimately contented, and completed I felt. And how, if I were to die in those moments, it would have been quite agreeable.

And yet, isn’t it ironic, how pain can make you feel exactly, the same way?

So how exactly does one….. well you know.. do that?

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