Secret messages written for you, for a friend (or two), for others, for nobody, and hell, even for myself.
A dangerous man.
I kept myself shuttered away.
You couldn’t pry this thing from my cold, dead hands.
It was never that hard for me.
I was never like Arjuna.
Sure, I had fallen many times. But never for people.
No, I’ve been behind enemy lines all my life.
Well, you were never really my master, were you?
But you were, by proxy.
I have to admit I almost feel gaslit.
You already got my message. If you read it, you already know I didn’t understand.
Or maybe I did, but wanted certainty.
If you’re reading this, the answer is Yes.
Followed by I Know.
And this is why, I haven’t done so.
I have seen the barrier, but only a glimpse.
The glimpse struck me deeply, but the knowing withdrew.
I’ll tell you like it is and I won’t hold back.
The problem is that you desire to control and to image-pad and to prevent nature from showing its true teeth.
You desire to not be who and where you are as you are.
I bite my tongue as the compulsion arises to speak to you directly.
In doing so I would betray the impetus behind this desire for a pittance of immediate gratification.
To do this would be immature and unserious.
A hurricane of bittersweet nostalgia hits me like a truck when I listen to those rough and growly guitars captured on my phone in that little industrial warehouse.
I don’t know if you know this, but we were actually starting to get pretty good.