It’s not personal. It’s life.

Some people hide behind words because they are cowering little shadows in the light of the day, in light of what they are, in light of what they want to be—bent over a dream and taking it hard from reality. They live in corners of their parent’s basement, stroking IT (EGO to Id mayday) and when they peak at other’s WORDS, and there are no fireworks for them, no girlfriends amongst the mildew, only their calloused hands to Internet love, frustration causes them to lash out from behind thick layers of poorly chosen words; somewhere over the border, where it is safe to be young and naive. You don’t have the time. Tic. Tock. Cut me open and see the rings of words that go back until I was a seedling, the drought years, the years of heavy rain, the scars that cut through to the core of my dusty soul.

I remove my EGO and stand bare in front of my words, my modifier dangling for all to see. There is nothing behind my words that I don’t place in front of my words. Nothing up my sleeve, nothing in my hands but you watch closely and abra fucking cadabra I pull it out and you wonder from where. Scratch your hater head and I laugh at the hollow sound that indicates the absence of anything worth spitting on. Come close and I will let you in on a little secret…that’s it…a little closer…you are nothing to me. Now go, grow, prove that there are walls outside your basement bedroom. I don’t hate you. There’s nothing there yet to hate…please make me hate you someday.

*To all my blogging clique you showed me much Internet Love (Copyright Superbadass 2005) and Kerouaced is an elephant that never forgets.

Check out my little buddy Cuke. http://coolasacucumber.blogspot.com/ She needs the Internet Love because sometimes the world shows its big yellow teeth and threatens to swallow you. She's got words...