There seems to be a great need within society for people to have the ability to interpret bestowed upon them. There was a time when I felt blessed by the ability to write in a way that used metaphor and analogy to it’s highest power. In the extremes, a powerful message can be delivered through obscurity. I write in a way that allows for multiple interpretations and for poignant sentiment to be applied to nearly any emotion held at a given time. In this way, people can relate to me and I to them in a way that is precious. Because of this changing of times, it seems that even the most simple thing that I have to say can be warped into nothing more then a pseudo-gothic expression of my inner pain. While there is a time and place for me to express such feelings (yes, we all have them), it does not mean that I have become a victim to my own inability to feel beyond that.
Take a step back everyone. You really need to adopt this realization that there is more to even the most damaged amongst your fellow man. I am not going to write what I have to say in sugar-coated, happy-go-lucky phrases no matter how happy I am. I am also not going to gently spoon feed you my words, thoughts, philosophies and verses. You can take them as they are served, choke it down even if you hate it, or you can go to bed hungry. Open your eyes and for just one second take the time to see beyond the words. Behind this screen is not a person counting down the seconds until death offers sweet release from all of the treachery that has been suffered. Behind this screen is a person who is spending every day learning from every single experience and trudging through the judgment cast by your narrow-mindedness.
What is written here is what I am generously offering you in an attempt to bring new perspective to dwindling insight. It is not those who are wracked with painful emotion that they can’t break free from that are irreparably damaged… it is you who can’t find your way out of your spiteful little box to realize that you will never see the light of day from the bleak corner of misanthropy. You blame the torrents of angst-ridden teenagers and the resulting 10 million subcultures birthed from their individual agonies for the fact that it has become nearly impossible to read beyond graphic imagery. I blame your happy, suburban home built from the illusions of jaded parents hell-bent on raising their children “right”. If you have never struggled, who are you to be the critic. Does this sound familiar? Do you hate being put in a category from which you can’t claw your way out? Do you indeed have wisdom beyond your years due to the trials of your exhausting tribulations? Quite possibly you have… and you may want to draw on that as a lifeline from such fatal hypocrisy.