I wish I could start this off with a poem or something more fitting than an image of me swinging a bat two Easter’s ago. I wouldn’t have thought I would be in Dallas then. I would have probably been in a warehouse somewhere or over seas again, or in nature. I was still in my 20’s, the last year but still in my 20’s. My life is very touch and go at the moment. My leaving my job was as much about me as it was about poor management. In that I find no solace. I don’t know if my drive has taken over and I’ve lost the compass I held so close for so long. Events in my past make me go both ways. I’ve left good women and bad equally to end up married to a woman I love more than ever half way around the world. I’ve always been a sucker for love. What I have gained more of is that in the face of that foolish pursuit of this want for love I’ve found in myself a slickness that I despise. I would have never thought of Love as a want a few years ago, it was a necessity, like breathing and it could be perfect in its imperfection. I teeter on the belief that things like this are real constantly or am I just tricking myself and the people around me. From a distance and with time all things are written with a dull pencil. The words start to lose focus and whatever feeling they had are replaced with the memory of that feeling amplified by my own mythology. I’m not a good man, I can say that in honesty. I’ve done enough things to toss away that wish of being a good man forever, along with that I can throw away my sense of good people, barring a few. Most have the grace of me not knowing them. In that unknowing, I ask myself do I know myself. By now I say yes but I can also surprise myself. My suicidal depression has given way to normal depression and increased anxiety. A big portion of me not wanting to be along is part of grounding myself in reality. I’m no longer as concerned with drifting away and being unfound in some suicide but more worried about drifting away in schizophrenic fugue after days of not seeing anyone and reading the daily news. I’ve been searching for attachment my digital presence, I’ve been searching for meaning in my horoscope, I’ve been lost day dreaming about the pain and pleasure of destroying my morality and descending desire’s circles to see what waits for me at the bottom. If I ever thought I hit rock bottom I was so far away I could kiss myself. I’m looking for another moment of clarity, one that come in the form of a happy hour, not drinks, but blinding elation. I can’t read my new long poem performance piece without breaking into tears. I have to read it fast enough to avoid breaking down. I can think about performing it but I get anxious and stop resulting in me barely being able to edit the damn thing. In a little over a week I will be on a plane that I almost hope will never land. As much as I am excited to see my wife after all these months I am terrified that I will collapse under my own weight. I almost never want to return. The prospect of this next 10 years of my life seem insurmountable. The state of the world if psychically linked to me, or is it the other way around. I can write this down and find no solace. I can look at myself in the mirror long enough to clear my mind of all thoughts. What comes after never lasts and maybe that is a blessing. I could go on and on but I’m starting to ramble. I guess if I know that I haven’t gone too far. The question is that far enough. I’ve been doing this for going on 12 years and I am still asking myself that question. And even more so it is impossible to go back now.