Far From The Madding Crowd

So hard it is to see outside this new look, to be able to gaze upon the past as it was; to see, to understand, to know…or want to it should be said.

Especially now; as now it is gone, now large chunks of my own history have been wiped out of my mind, or perhaps forgotten, whichever came first. Was it done intentionally or not, though i’m not sure it is possible to know that? or if it in fact matters? Its gone. The dream is dead.

Long live the new dreams, dreams ready to be dreamt, open and free, more weightless conjuring awaits.

Blinking out into open ground, somewhat free, somewhat tethered, but with the assurity whatever happens: it was right.

You see before i was imprisoned, had imprisoned myself. i’d had a dream, one that i was certain would come to fruition I only had to put forth enough belief, enough faith and, tellingly, expend enough energy…

Well.

It was the energy that failed first. My body that began crumbling bit by bit, so stubborn was my mind. Parts of me succumbing to the tension, mournful drip on mournful drop. My insides cooking slowly on stress, then at an increasing rate, until piece by piece i started to tire, inside out, things failed, wore out. They had had enough.

My body told me…you are flogging a dead horse…i like that, flogging a dead horse, such an absurd phrase, so fitting.

if the horse has died move on, my body told me. Move on, don’t sit about holding a dead horse.Do it, do it now, before it is you, before it is you…