Ides of March

MY WRITE
Scott Donald Sanderlin
(C) MMIV

Comments/Correspondence to: sunfoof

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I began this post on the Ides of March, to be sure. BTW, I've learned how to add links (and I believe I do so legally - please advise). So don't forget to click a few. The links are mostly to sites of interest to me, and hopefully to you all, as well. Other links I might incorporate to clarify or illustrate my meanings. I have also incorporated a mailto as I am interested in serious [preferably] feedback about my content. The links are NOT re-directs to pop-up frenzied mass-marketing scams, nor are they re-directs to porn or other nefarious websites. So be not afraid and visit at your will and leisure, to satisfy your curiosity.

Now forward. I am making a musical sojourn with some old friends, King Crimson. I will listen to, at least, Starless and Bible Black and Discipline. This post is imminently important for me because, one year ago -- 366 days this time -- I recieved the unpleasant surprise that my wife would no longer be living in our home. Not as though an unfathomable outcome, but definitely a surprise. "That won't happen in my marriage. It only happens to other people. I won't do what my parents did." Lalala. My father would call that, 'Happy Horseshit'.

"Beware the Ides of March," was the sagely advice offered so long ago and so far away. Yea, the fateful Ides did extol its virtue upon me, as well, after my own fashion. Something very important was taken away from me that day, or so I alleged in abaisance (that's an oldie but goodie) to my swelled, wounded, and defensive pride. I know now that I, too, tread the boards on that stage of desolate desperation. I, too, sacrificed my own ideals because it was too painful to face my own culpability. A common gesture of assured self-destruction, true, but no more amenable to acceptability. Acrimonious, in fact. [damn, today feels like a 'good word day'] Absolutely.

In terms of union, the relationship unraveled whether I sentenced the marriage to dissolution or not. Something was gone and I no longer retained the same sense of control over it. The profundity of today's date is marked by the recognition that I have begun to relenquish control over something else which I regard as paramount in my humble existence. That something being the written record of my mentation, 'My Write'. [some people might refer to it as 'mental masturbation']

'My Write' is something which I have always held dear and something which I have sublimated for long as a result [irrational] of fearing any possible misinterpretation or misunderstanding. Two outcomes which are, though likely inevitable, engendered in and essential to the "spirimental" growth process. Two outcomes which must be accepted by the thinker-feeler before personal progress can truly be made. I am fallible to that fear, as an INTJ - though as are many - but an INTJ, especially an INTJ, can accomplish much once that hurdle is cleared.

So I have begun to recognize the relenquish of control over what I write, what words I choose to clear my mind with. The words may be trounced or denounced, lofted or lauged at, even martyred or stolen. I really have little say-so. OK, I may be able to acclimatize to that notion. "Matte Kudasai" is playing. What a beautiful song. These guys are musical geniuses. Wow, what a beautiful song! It would be difficult to trounce these words (everloving thanks to Dwala for introducing me to this band - hope you're doin' OK girl):

"Stand by the window pane.
Pain, like the rain that's falling
She waits in the air, Matte Kudasai.
She sleeps in a chair...in her sad America
When, when was the night so long?
Long, like the notes I'm sending.
She waits in the air, Matte Kudasai.
She sleeps in a chair...in her sad America
She waits in the air, Matte Kudasai.
She sleeps in a chair...in her sad America"
-- King Crimson, Discipline

And so I am letting go this sense of control, relenquishing 'My Write' to the denizens of the blog community. Have mercy, I am merely a thinker and these are the best words I could think of at the time with which to ellicit some meaning from these thoughts that bombard the ramparts of my mind.

For my Mother and Father, of course. Thanks for reading. Namaste.

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To live is to wonder.
To wonder is to live.
sds