Thursday, June 8, 2006

Here are the Young Men

Where are the great men? The wise, the learned, the men of deep thought and decisive action. Men who understand the world and its complexities and act with compassion, not force, love, not aggression. Men who do not freeze with fear when faced with a challenge, be it great or small. Why is it that I, small, alone, frightened for myself and for all around me, ask this question when it is I who should take action? I who should lead. When it is I who, rabbit-like, stares unblinking at the cold empty void that seems to cloak so many. I am frozen, and though all it takes is one step, one strong, determined step forward, it is a difficult step. And so I remain, frozen.

Do not for a moment think that I speak of matters of the heart.

Where were my role models when I grew up? A man who fled, a liar and a cheat, before I said my first words, a woman who gave of herself so completely there was nothing left of herself but an empty ghost, another man who faced his internal demons by destroying all that came close. This triumvirate of mentors fed me with lessons which I have spent my whole life attempting to unlearn; my only defense, a sense of self and what I believed to be right. But it has taken its toll. Left a brand deep on my soul, and each day it seems, I project that which I need to survive. Clown, Sage, Braggard, Friend, Lost Little Boy, Man-in-waiting, Seducer, Drunk.

I think

[but that is all inside your mind. escape your mind and take action and THEN you will have defined yourself]

I think

[if I sit here, quiet as I can, no-one will notice me and I can survive another day until nightfall. For nightfall brings release]

I think

[oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck]

I think

[fuck you, there is this weakened side of me that I share, and yet there is strength that you cannot imagine, and that flash in my eye is proof of that. Be warned]

I think

perhaps, too much. And leave action for the heroes.

But it is one thing to write of a reservoir of strength, dam conceited you could say. And another to do such when anonymously hunched behind a pale white screen. Today I have fears to face, and thought to draw strength by writing my thoughts. But the left hand side knows, the left hand side understands procrastination while the right hand side feeds creative compliments. Writing is goal enough, it says, and the Left Side scoffs (!) replying, write when you have achieved, write once you have drawn experience, sketchy though you may feel.

And as the ink dries on the page, oh the traditional ways, I sign off and stand to face my fears.

[oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck]

The good news: It's never too late to do the right thing.


  1. think less, feel more.

    and you're right. it's never too late. for anything.



  2. braggards fiends and thinkers unite...

    and do something. carn.