… the junkie/doctor fork…
the road less traveled?
I don’t know which road I took. less traveled… more traveled. I don’t really care. quantity… quality… quality… quantity…
I just… I’m through. I mean, if I choose no longer to be a junkie… and the voice I’ve found, through the writing that I’ve done… through the people that I’ve met… enticed… kept… lost… love…
I found it.
I’ve searched. And I’ve found it.
The thing is…. I don’t need it anymore, maybe.
I mean, the crutch of the ‘voice’.
I have learned to speak. Maybe it’s time to screw the training wheels off…
It renders my absolute crushing need for writing and creating images…. for everything that I felt I was not and for everything that these words and images reassured me that I was at a time when magic was king and the image superb.
The time when I felt so much more than I could understand and express.
Like a neuron in the prefrontal cortex suddenly jolted with electricity. For seconds… maybe minutes?
express, empathize… feel
just something. Something that was important.
Maybe I was fool, maybe I was young, maybe I was sad.
Maybe at the time the blinding white glowing node in my heart ached for something that my brain didn’t understand.
It’s time to move on…