Dividends of the Psyche, Matters of the Heart.

December 2010 January 2011 February 2011 June 2011 July 2011 August 2011 September 2011 October 2011 February 2012 March 2012 April 2012 May 2012 June 2012

I always loved irony. I always thought I was the protagonist in my own continuous satire, my love for the hapless ALWAYS coming to be, being the one deterrent from becoming completely downtrodden.

The idea of being affronted by reality, the raw mortality that irony forces upon us when we desire it's presence the least... It's my humor erupts from the audacity of the world to awaken us from the fantastical expectations we all sometimes have. There's no survival tactic that implores a man or woman to never expect the inevitable; in fact, survival is best built on readiness for all things inconvenient.... but I folly in focus.

I've been called a "closet Elitist", and sometimes prudish about living with caution thrown wildly to the wind. However... that's hardly the case. My reliance on my intellect is a propeller for much of the criticisms I have for others. NOT because I'm obnoxious, but because the same criticisms I hold firmly to for others, I bestow just as harshly upon myself. Mercilessly, even, at times. I am starting to believe this criticism comes from my expectation of an ironic thing snatching away my carefree mask and showing me for who I really am... a lover of adventure, with an extreme sense of responsibility to this world.

Giving a damn is hard, especially when you're someone that feels like "everything" happens to you... But the difference between surrendering and compensating is that one who surrenders never goes on. If I'm still breathing after the skies have pierced me like shards of glass, the true crime would be to lie motionless. 

Walking, with legs filled with pain, yet maintaining locomotion....... That's the irony of survival.