Thursday Evening Post: 12.10.20

Been working on my cynicism. Or, rather, against it. An impossible task these days, some may say. And yet, it is the proposal of impossibility that can entice the sort of romantic fervor best suited to oppose the fermenting brood of the cynic. Not the lovey-dovey sort of romance. More to do with the older sense of the term. Closer to the old republic. Tales of gallant knights, and such.

The ideas I associate with not growing up. For growing up means knowing that knights and cowboys, and associated acts, lived in colder, harsher worlds than mine. Hence the heinous acts history has recorded occurring in or around such respective eras. The beast that is man, and the thin line that separates John Wayne from Charles Bukowski.

Besides, these ain’t the days for that sort of love. The more modern sense. Not for your humble narrator, at least.

Hope you’re doing alright, by the way. Hope pleads me to believe things will get better. And I believe I’m not alone in thinking that might be so. I’d better not be. This thing will never work if I am the only human that thinks we can work our way to better days.

The nag then, for us thinking that improvement is a necessary attempt to be made, becomes what is it that we’re supposed to do?

Pretty helpless feeling, I know. It eats away, or at least nibbles, every day. An intangible itch.

Fighting for words. Working muscles left rusted by lack of inspiration, whilst I attempt to spring water from a pile of rocks. Blooding stones, all alone, in thoughts uncondoned but occurring just the same. Stories left untold over lethargy or the paranoia (possibly plausible) that there is nothing I may ever say that hasn’t been said. In better ways, with better folks to do the saying.

But could the folks putzing around the Renaissance work through the cluttered and catastrophic cobwebs we currently call a society? This now, where ideologies of old arise to muck about in costumes crudely shaped to seem relevant to the times. Or where idyllic notions cloud any or all sense of pragmatism in what should otherwise be able and useful minds?

Left that vague enough where you can now enter your own personal lens of who and what fits in what part of that. According to your world view. The individual perspective. Once thought the most valuable thing a human being can hold, is now the pinnacle of infuriation that can provoke one who sees a perspective contrary to their own. Which is a fabricated argument, more or less. When speaking of the large numbers of humans we currently have. Though I don’t say it is intended. Not totally, though perhaps in ways, partially. Part of it is the transition of memory into history. In allowing the passage of time to heal wounds and bridge divides. In taking the light of whichever culture or collective identity we may share or not share with others, and doing what we can to leave the darkness somewhere behind. And if it is not something we can shake for ourselves, we should aim to pass as few of our faults on to our children. Speaking specifically or metaphorically. I’m a father, but even for thee or thou that ain’t, you can impact the generation that shall succeed us. And if you feel like you may have been shafted by those before, to do the same would make you just like them, wouldn’t it?

     Been working on identity and calculated reduction of my own flaws. As much as one can. And should. The truth also becomes that after a certain point, there is a certain amount of a sentience that is set in certain ways. I am who I am, so to speak. And even with habit changes, the wiring is set to work in ways at least a bit predetermined.

     Thankfully, the schematics I got weren’t all that bad. A temper though not tamed, is still well within management.

     And my mind wonders to think how much spark I may have ever had if I didn’t have such predispositions. Occasional and appropriate conflagrations in order to inspire potent endeavors are what in one way or another, led us here. Though a skill that needs perfection and refinement, turning tantrums into tangible expressions seems to be how I make sense with the world, and peace within myself. That last bit, though I keep aiming for it, may not be as completely achievable as well all might hope. But, oh well, it’s worth a shot.

     But in order to get anywhere new, I need this old routine. Consider it my public workout. All the rage these days. And who doesn’t like to watch the sculpting of a well-formed posterior?

     Only, my attempts have to do with the rounding out of ideas. Not as sexy, perhaps. Though, I can’t speak for everyone.

Maybe you’re into that.

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