"Broken Records of Misplaced Desire"

Eventually every dog ceases to chase his tail. My only hope is that one day I’m fortunate enough to do the same. Lovely…

I remember a little black book. I remember being referenced in this book. Singularly, this little black book gave me valuable insight that I am still trying to process to this very day. The words in it made me question who I was and how I was viewed by those around me. Questioning the sanity of those involved doesn't even begin to do the processing of information justice. That book led to so many different destinations, but they were all deceiving paths. You see, the only real destination it led me to was a place I could never find, nor ever will. I'm seeing now that its fortunate that I'm being prohibited passage to that true destination. The written word can be a powerful tool. There's no facial expressions to hide behind, or vocal variations to throw you off. There's no patterned mode of delivery that audible language can help smuggle in. It's there in front of you...how you were meant to read it...how you are perceived...how you are treated...where you stand.

Call a man a coward if you want to crush him. Call him a coward even if you're not sure he is one or not. Validity be damned. What are the measures you measure him against to bring that conclusion? Perhaps it's your own valiant heroism? Perhaps.

Even though I no longer read the words in the book, there are still words that are strikingly familiar. Some that are audible and some that are written. Round and round we go. We'll meet at the ball, dance this dance, pour our drinks on each others heads, leave in a screaming fit of passion, throwing rage to the wind, and meet in a few months to do it all over again. In some circles I suppose this is considered pleasant, or God forbid...even normal.

Well, I've been writing a few words myself. Deprogramming is what I call this little process of mine. My words might be mistaken as sloven...to be perfectly honest. But they're mine. You see, I love words. I love the way they express your emotions and sometimes your actions. But I choose mine wisely. I realize the formidable consequences words can have. While they look like and sound like little symbols and syllables, they actually carry quite a heavy significance. Tossing them around like some kite being tossed in the winds of March is sometimes unwise. I'm fortunate enough to have a filter in my head that taps the brakes when there are certain words running the gamut in there, waiting to get out. A little red light comes on as they forcefully rear-end each other, stand up and look around and say things like, "maybe we shouldn't head outta here like this...all frantic-like...someone could mistake us for what he really means. Let's rearrange and try this again...slower."

I've learned a valuable lesson from this type of stricture, because well...when you don't have that filter and you say things that may not necessarily be what you mean...well, you have to find more and more and more and more and more and more words to disinfect the words that came out smothered in subterfuge. Eventually, you don't even know what you meant.

The little black book taught me that.