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Tuesday, March 30, 2010

I, Run

Rain. Nature's blood. Nothing as beautiful or as wild as its' mighty droplets. I am running in it. I must have run 7 miles by now. My body is stronger than it ever has been. I see the taut sinews of my thighs rising and falling as I push forward.

"Feel me!" I yell to the dirt, to the grass, to the buildings. "Dare ye press against me, ye fools?!"

My navel is the Spanish Armada.

My waist is the Grand Canyon.

Touch my dripping stomach. I am a Rock.

Running. I am always Running. My 8th grade mathematics teacher asked once what visual scene in nature gave me the most peace. "Waterfall", I had answered.
"Interesting. and not at all surprising," she said half-grinning in her amusement at me.

"Why"? I asked, half-annoyed, half-curious.

"Well, I ask you to pick Peace, and you still choose the one thing in nature which is constantly in motion."

It's true I realize. I get antsy quickly. I get bored, unstimulated. If I hit the point of stagnation I start to self destruct, or destroy everything and everyone around me. I need to destroy, to ruin, in order to create. If things are too happy, too in line, I start running. I feel home in Chaos.

Even when I am consciously embracing stillness, there is the Tiger, the Beast inside me growling. It snarls its' way out of my liver, ravages my kidneys and small intestine, rips open my lungs and snakes its' way up to my heart. If my heart is pumping too mildly, too quietly, the Tiger eats it alive. It eats me alive until I am dead. Then the Beast digests me and spits me back out, my heart now with a new scar, a new strength, beats ferociously.

I burst, and I can Run again.

Sometimes I've paused long enough to allow the wonderment of stability absorb me. I try with all my might to give myself to it's steady pace. But Always, the Beast does not allow it.

I rip the skin off my muscles if necessary. I cut it all off, any remnant of the tranquil. "Cut yourself off from what you love. Hope that the wound heals."-J.M Coetzee

There is no room for weakness in a Spartan. Only the hard can call themselves Spartan. Only the Hard. Only the Strong. I have the power of 300 in me.

There is nothing peaceful about me. I am neither lover nor fighter.
I am the Blade itself. I am the lethal Bullet.
There is no cage which can contain me; of this world or the transcendent one. The Beast inside of me will not allow it. The eyes glow as Lava. And I Run.

My writing, art, music, creations, they are what I am, they permeate my being with such wonder. My lover gives me pleasures of the flesh and solace of the spirit.
Yes, There are a hundred reasons why my art, music, writing, creation, is better than a lover; better even than sex. There are a hundred more reasons why This is better than all of it.

Because it is not my lover's (your if you're reading this Gian hahahaa=0p) tongue running along my thighs when I storm thru the valleys. And it is not a paintbrush which makes my skin glow with excited blood.

I, Run.


I have done it. I have broken Free. Freed myself of Society. Of Man. Of Earth. Of Rules. Of even Myself. I am nothing but the sound of these shoes. I am absent save for these miliseconds of motion.

This moment. This death of my lungs and birth of my being, bursting adrenaline throughout my veins. "Too Much is Not Enough. Nobody Said This Stuff Makes Any Sense..."-Adrenaline, Gavin Rossdale

For the Truth is I Have reached the end of it. Stared into the black hole of the abyss and seen it's sad eyes staring back at me. I have finally found the answer. Reached thru and captured the essence. The grand mystery revealed. There is nothing. It's all meaningless.

So what.

There is this moment. This moment that vibrates my core and I pulse thru the city like a sonogram. I run. I pound. I run.

I am invincible. I am on fire. I could fly off this earth right now, spread out my arms and soar above All of this, and unlike Icarus I would not fall. I would only morph my skin into the clouds, become the sky, become the rain.

I breathe. I sprint harder. My focus could shatter a diamond.
I am ready for whatever precipice, I am faithful in whatever journey.

I've already seen the end of time, the fall of of humanity, and witnessed my death. There's simply no room anywhere in my being for fear.

Stand not in my way. Fuck with me not. I am a force. I am the Alpha Centauri. I am the Aurora Borealis.

My past the arrow which skewered my guts and pierced all my organs and fluids out of me.

I take hold of the arrow, I pull it out along with the gallons of blood and the cries of anguish. I look it in it's treacherous face and laugh at it, my eyes gleaming maniacally in the night, their whites rising above the red stains on my cheekbones. I snap the arrow in half. I let it fall, I crush it with my foot and leave it there on the ground to lay cold and deserted in the rain. I don't look back, never look back.

My heart is the mighty oak, shielded by steel. It's depth is limitless, my devotion infinite, my love pure. It is reserved now. Beating out it's rhythyms, vibrating for all to hear, but not possessable by anyone. It's been wasted on the undeserving. No more. No more. It waits for the one who is worthy of what it gives. All others bite the dust. And if the fates declare there is no-one for all eternity, so be it. I need nothing, I seek no-one. I am in a lifelong romance with myself.


Albeit it is not that I've stopped enjoying the tastes of this earth. I've had lovers, I have even now a lover. I've replaced the hole with a new toy. The new toy dances for me...he lifts me up...and I wonder if he'll be worthy enough for my steel to melt. (Are you, oh dear sex slave? Well we'll see.) The thing is...I've learned enough now to Never pause. To keep my muscles tight, to keep my stride unreachable. To keep Running.

To play with my prey First,
dangle it,
make it suffer, make it suffer some more,
test it,
capsize it,
drown it,
spear it,
make it suffer again and again,

and then see if it's still there before even Beginning to let my steel down.
My soul is a sacred vessel as is my heart. Whatever I put in it better be 4 Star Michelin gourmet prey. If it's truly gourmet, it'll pass the test, and if it's not, well, the armada of Me would have served its purpose.

You never know how many arrows will fly out to hit you. You never know how deeply they will penetrate you. So what do you do? You do what you can control. There is no "battleplan". There is only You. Violence is ridiculous to put into war. War is political. personal.

So you build your fleet. You increase your speed. You heighten your senses. You look for sharp corners. You force your eyes to zone in on the weaknesses of your spirit and bring them to your attention. You strengthen all of you and you leave no Achilles' heel.













I, RUN. and


Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

What does the future hold for me?
Who knows.
Is there a purpose to me?
It doesn't matter.

The most unpredictable and therefore most effective strategy....

is to not have one.

get yourself to the point where you've ripped everything else off, to be able to just run, and the dirt will form a path For you.

Are you dangling G? Have you grown tired yet? here's a wink for ya, kid.

It's Only You and I Who Understand...There Is No Plan........... ;0


All I hear is the sound of my feet pounding on the earth. All I feel is my heart drumming in my chest. All I know is I must keep running.

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