An essay on achieving - by Craig Turnwall

I don′t find myself being privy to much as I write this. Perhaps it′s the lack of not being impervious to my own nature, perhaps it′s that I′ve let myself grow too long, perhaps I can′t put reason to will, or am I just talking...am I.

A solid foundation of do′s and don′t have lead to some unaltered ideas which I will call ′know′. These ′knows′ are certain ideals and nuances which I, among other things such as hygiene, rational thought, provoked violence...have let scape to the outside of mornings, noons and nights of my days, these retro spectacles of hindrance, only because I have let them dangle in front of me as thus, appear to me now as strung up like trapped pelts, minks, muskrats, lesser game of which I once hoped to conspire in the company of... my brothers, for we remain the hunted.

I have wished, for such an extended time, to ponder on issues which I find not only troubling, (for that label will never cease to be true) but the items which confront me in my daily life, issues and language, verbatim phrases of action which range far beyond semantics and vernacular, in contrast most characterized by the motion of your arms, the will in hearts, kisses which you place softly upon foreheads of brothers and sisters you wake for in midst of night due to their own sorrows.

How have we become? Most importantly, how have we begun to become...this a redundancy on itself much the same way we justify our own actions in getting up for our employment′s schedule, our job, for us? For them? Formica? For longing? Foresight? They′re all ritualistic actions and I toil with consequences, as do all heart strong bodies day dreaming of not being in attendance to the relentlessness of wishing the windows screaming cantations of lust freedom.

I scream: TAKE HOLD! Let it become not only how you choose places and reasons outside of getting up in the morning of alarm clocks I do not wish to become myself as I have led it forward! There are heavens greater than the worst nightmares of our dreams if only we wake for them. If only they wake for us! I cannot pursue schematics which do not hold some amount of heart, pulses of blood why do I toil myself within flames of wanderlust escape? How hard is it for me to go. How hard is it?

Metallic enough to leave me blistered. Rash enough to not fathom consequences for repercussions for actions... I imagine to be involuntary as blinking. I can make myself stare however... I can stop eye lid action... I can withhold my food... I can stop breathing...for minutes and hours at a time...I know.

-Wall
9-13-05

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