When you've found yourself in the arena of moral relativism, nobody carries a yardstick, so don't count your steps in or out. And just because you find yourself looking coyly down your nose at me while sipping your drink doesn't mean I'm going to melt away into the gutters.
I hang my head in dutiful reverence for your task at hand.
The Western skies are full of blue. My chest is full of pressure. Tangible pressure. Self-administered pressure.
You try to cradle humility in your voice, when everyone is telling you to speak your mind. But I hold off, because harmony and balance were etched into my psyche and personality when I was a formative child, and they found a welcome, warm home.
I have a loud voice, audibly. It's easy to hear me. I say what I want when I want. I've no problem broadcasting my thoughts. But it's usually reserved for those who can only hear what I have to say...and what I have to say is usually drowned in an effort towards tactfulness.
I was burned for my tact tonite. Like the way she burns through cigarettes and glances throughout the room. Tall and long, dark hair and eyes. "Cory Will...just say what you have to say." It's that easy, huh? It's not that easy. The world preaches self-interest. That's unfortunate.
JUST BE WHO YOU ARE. LET THE WORLD KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!! WE CARE!! BECAUSE IT'S IMPORTANT.
Really...it's not.
It's self-masturbation (<--redundancy, but I don't police grammar anymore). Self-control is admirable. Nobody fucking cares what you say in the end, or for any longer than measurable time allows. Nobody here anyways. It's my admiration that's reserved to those who have restraint when it's needed.
You cross lines, I'll tell you what you need to know. But I won't tell you my every thought to cripple your knees. The modern world preaches self-promotion and self-interest. Your words plummet in value when it's a constant stream of meaninglessness and you've flooded the market with them. You should know that.
It's as easy as Everest. There's no oxygen up there, and when nobody can breathe, they don't care what you have to say. There's more pressing issues, and you should know this at lower elevations. It's elementary.
It's easy for everyone else. It's a projection theory. Saying everything and putting it out into the atmosphere just to see what comes back. Just a bit of tactical preparation, or strategic patience is worth looking into, if for nothing more than an exercise in veneration.
Someone telling me something they don't like about me when what they mean is themselves. That's why mirrors exist. If you'll look across the room, you'll see one hanging in the back of this old dirty hall. They tell you stories that you need to know about yourself. This one's no different. It'll do that here and now for you on this cold night. For that I can offer no excuse...especially on her part. How can I? Your thoughts are not mine. I have my own. You don't need to project them onto me.
I hang my head in dutiful reverence for your task at hand.
I'll handle what I have to handle, and I won't make apologies for that. My ears have been filled with ethereal plans that people have. My ears are pinned back to confront those things that threaten me, but yet, my ears somehow find themselves devoid of harvest. None to my surprise. I just say what I mean, and mean what I say. Sell myself short at times? Sure. But who isn't guilty of that? I know what's within reach. Grand dreams are going down a waterfall in a barrel. Don't come down on me for things that you can't deliver. It's not my fault that you can't find the strength.
Coming from the burning side of the building, it's hard to ask for water when you struck the match on all of us.
So I've spoken. So let it be written.
Write your own pitiful story before you write mine.
Dammit.
Optimistic Voices - The Wizard of OZ
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