What is that you fear?
Stagnation.
Stale breaths.

I fear becoming repetitive.
Usual.
Routine.

Boring mundane life whittled away to the shadows of midnight t.v. flickers.

I fear finding more stimulation in staged scripts and reality-based shows than in my own.

I fear missing out or giving up on any more life.

Once we find the key to nirvana, the bliss of ignorance is replaced by the bliss of enlightenment. And that key then must be ripped from our fingers if it is ever to be taken away.

Either that or we must be willing to put it down.

I fear not that someone would rip away the things I hold dear, but that I would, out of ignorance or stupidity or simple neglect, lay down my set of keys.

I fear the hollowing out and scraping along in the shell of a man who had given up. Losing all glimpses of a self that I truly enjoy. Losing touch with a man that I fought so hard to let go of so I could become him.

That’s not right.

I fought for who I am with myself and now that i’ve wrestled me away from myself, I don’t wanna let me go. The hinting of this clenches my grinding teeth.

I fear becoming like the people I used to feel pity for. The people who held me in respect because I was doing all the things that I think they secretly wanted to do, was the kind of person they secretly wanted to be.

I fear being demoted to their level of existence. I fear their level of discomfort.

I fear being what I imagine the mundane people I went to high school with must be doing with their time.

I don’t fear rejection - I know too many people who admire me. I fear arrogance.

I fear growing old before I’m through being young.

I fear going too far and not being able to come back, letting go too much.

I fear feeling inspired and not having a handy medium.

I fear over-exposure, over exposing my film.

I fear not feeling good about what I’m doing, losing respect for myself, for my work. In truth, I am missing the work I used to be doing.

I fear looking out the window at a revolution.

I fear the magic not being home when I return.

Fuck the boogie man:
I am him.

PS. This was written in 2001 or 2002.

#writtenword