By Scary Halloween
I have died so many times yet here I am.
Why? Why is that? When so many do all the time, yet I remain, physically unscathed.
I linger in mental emotional red rover. Maybe it is best to die. I can't say. It's not.
I don't think I have a purpose that is clear or one that is main stream. If it was left to me, society would still be eating carrion in a cave.
I think it is just the way the universe works. No rhyme or reason. Just luck or not of the draw.
I wouldn't think about so much if I could settle with who I am versus how I was raised.
I have never had a singular obsession for things like sports, technology, fashion and all the other bullshit with what people waste their money and time.
Okay. Not true. I am obsessed with truth, with knowing what is real what is indoctrination.
Obsessed with being, not out of fear but out of self.
It feels like a curse although I know it is a blessing, my gift.
The pay is lousy and the friendships are few and far between.
But when I review my grateful list, make my positive statements to god and the universe, I am happy.
Are you?
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