Some words were invented by perverts. Cusp, is one such word.
Ello, lot !
I’ve never quite understood chirpy write(r)s. Art has always been, in my world, synonymous with darkness, sadness, death even. Though, in an awfully sweet way.
The year began with whiskey with family and friends, as it always does. Round-table setting, about midnight, a lot was spoken of. Drunken-stupor, walking to the bushes (proverbial, of course. Anything to seem manly) to take a leak, and I made choices about how to do things this year. What to do more of, what to do less of. Who to keep, who to lose. Choices that can only be made with whiskey taste on one’s tongue.
Months down the line, it’s all shaping up how I intended it to.
Months down the line, it’s all as bloody as I expected it would be.
Months down the line, it’s all as bitter-sweet as I anticipated it would taste.
“You’re on the verge of something. Prepare“. Loise told me that sometime early last year. Not too many things stick. That stuck. That’s my reference-point whenever I doubt self; whenever I doubt choices made; whenever I doubt paths taken.
That’s my reference-point, this morning.
Don’t doubt that you can be big. When you do, you think small, and when you think small, it is the biggest barrier to becoming big.
You dream. You plan. You act. You be. You will. I promise.
Brucey 