When I see a person say that they're looking for someone with whom they can be themselves, I inevitably think that one should be themselves with everyone. And one should be one's self with one's self. Which sounds like a given, but is not. Honest self-reflection is required, and the posing of questions to said self. Acceptance is what occurs with vetting and the determination of answers. By acceptance, I mean of reality. To accept what we are requires us to question who we are. And also what we can become. And what we have become. This is not to be insensitive; one understands that what a person also means is that they'd like someone with whom they can be themselves who will not give them a hard time or cause them pain. But while we do have to adapt to situations, people, and the nature of certain relationships, one should always be one's self, even if some portions or degrees are left for other spaces, people, and times. Without fealty to the self, there is less fealty to what is right and what is wrong. The developing self answers to what makes the one the one and the other the other. To this it must perpetually answer. Which is to say, always be true to yourself.
And remember that sodomy is more than a sport.
Not everything here need be a code book to the soul.
Yesterday I walked three miles. I wrote an op-ed on what is the baseline for decency. I publish a lot of op-eds, but I write twenty for every single one that comes out. And they are all as good. There's no, "this one is strong, this one is less strong." There is nothing like that with anything I do. I feel like America's best op-ed writer is barely allowed to practice his art, which in this case is but one of many forms of his art. This should be what is one of many full-time, six or seven figure gigs. Two op-eds a week, from me, every week, in a single venue.
This is yesterday's Downtown segment, and radio should be another full-time six or seven figure dollar gig, because no one is as good on the radio. Call it the Easter soup segment, which covers Cadbury eggs, jelly beans, Handel, martians, CineScope, hollow chocolate rabbits v. solid body chocolate rabbits, the Beatles, Coltrane, Peanuts, and the most important commodity in the world.
Today I walked twelve miles and ran ten hill sprints, after composing a work of pure power--which I have yet to send to the IC, because I want to read it a few more times--called "And the Life," which is at the "Fitty," "Girls of the Nimbus," level. It's about a mother in prison who is let out for an afternoon in April--with a female security escort--to attend the funeral of her daughter, but things are not what they seem. 1900 words long. I could have subtitled it, "An Easter Story," but I didn't want to box it in that way. Absolutely ripping with power.
This is a demo version of the Rolling Stones' "Dandelion" that is one of my favorite unreleased cuts of theirs. Keith Richards either doesn't know the lyric or it's not been entirely written. Purity of performance as when one sings a tune for the delight of doing so despite being unaware of the words.
Along a similar theme is this first take of the Beatles' "This Boy," which is one of my favorite unreleased cuts of theirs. This is the stuff to me.
Ever been hurt so much by someone that they take your memories from you, and there is nothing you can look back on, no matter how far away in the past, as anything but a kind of mirage made of poisonous clouds?
Whatever. Your way is forward. Getting to the spot is everything. Get there. And don't listen to the lies people are going to tell once you do. Move forward then as well. But first things first.
And drink some water. You're dehydrated.