as i begin to unravel this this that is in front of my mind i am unsure how to comprehend how to circumscribe everything that is going on for me inside outside my thoughts & my emotions my fragments my beginning of thoughts & my swirl of emotions.

i feel the tendency the temptation the pull to hide to run away to tear down what i have built to take it all from the visible place of the public eye. i feel this tug. i can see embarrassment ruminating over this temptation and fueling it i can see shame and thoughts of i am not good i am bad what i do is this and what i am is these and always will be that. embarrassed and ashamed these thoughts weaving over and through me and calling me to the shadows calling me out of the public square out of the light where all can see all can mock all can laugh and jeer and say, He is worthy of nothing.

these are the lines the lies the anti-narratives that run through my mind through my neurons and highways of under-standing of my now. i see them running everywhere, here and there, darting between and running away from moments of capture moments of dissolution and lights of other perspectives. they are the ones hiding. they are the ones evading. these lines these thoughts these accusers of embarrassment and shame are the ones that ought to be embarrassed that ought to feel shame. they are the ones hiding from my voice my self that says, No you do not hold the full truth or possibly even the slivers of truth that you claim. you run around you throw your stones you cast your doubts and tell me ME that i ought to be embarrassed for what, for what ought i to turn and hide and live between the cracks like you survive in mere shadows like you. you that cannot answer my questions you that can only tell me the same self-defeating anti-meta-narratives anti-narratives anti-me-stories.

i understand in this moment under-stand in the midst of my modes my melodies that you are not my friends, you who tell me that i am the shameful one that i am the embarrassed one. you sing songs that are not mine. you raise choruses that are not for me. you attack my venturing and my progress you keep me in a place of others desires the others that speak as you do in their sounds in their silences. my motions are forward my motions are beyond my motions are me in process in rivers of ripening. your calling to come and be with you in the shadows in the hidden rifts between what you call safety between your bullshit. i cannot.

as i look at a photo in my hand a photo of me as a child around maybe the age that my son is now i think, You are the one that i am recovering you are the one i am nurturing and opening space to be as you are as you were, your hands held high goofily gesturing toward the camera and free of these anti-friends that came along the way to speak and tell you to be somebody else.

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procedurally generated art
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