I’m working on something bigger

September 13, 2002

I’m working on something bigger than what I can muster right now. That’s a good feeling and a bad feeling. It means that what I come up with at this minute will not meet a standard I have set for myself (this writing may become so self referential that the end of this sentence might just crawl up the ass of the one before it . . .I warn you). I always hope to surprise myself. Each of these blasts through the soft underbelly of my brain has me coming up with something gooey I didn’t know was there. These journal entries are like the burrs, scrapes and twigs that decorate a labrador retriever who emerges from the bush after crashing around with that especially aimless enthusiasm. I say lab because I have lived lab. All metaphors can be traced to the primary colours of my youth.
I’m an overly sensitive man who is reflecting on a number of mortality issues lately. This may be a big surprise for those of you who know me as a callous, brawny and shallow motorcycle stunt rider. I hate to shake your world to the ground but without my weaknesses I have nothing. The pentagonal corral of self loathing, fear, doubt, guilt and death has me resigned to its boundaries. I wish to graze on the greenery on the outside so I stick my neck through a hole in the fence every once in awhile. I’ve worked really hard to find the gate. The search resumes in fits and starts. My resignation to my fate has yielded many great musings -- songs. I was afraid of becoming the prisoner who wouldn’t want to leave the cell even when the door was left open so recent events have me crashing hard into the fence. I’m trying to keep a stupid grin on my face as I do it. If I can keep documenting the struggle then I might just understand when I’m actually making headway. I’ve centred on fear as one of the linchpins in the cage and I’m trying to steady my hands and pull it out. Cloaking my communication has always provided room for interpretation. This is fun for anyone playing along with the song lyric home game. Pop music used to be one place where obscure communication was welcome. Playing on my strengths you could say that this playing field was made for my boots. Playing on my weaknesses was playing on my strengths. I was protected. This style of verbal “montage” can lead to problems in other arenas. I try to be steely eyed and direct but regularly seek sanctuary in the blur of this journal to validate and exorcise my demon motor. I'm working on something bigger.