The dog boy grew up with cats they told him he was a cat spoke to him like a cat groomed him as a cat and even though he still became Dog Man this pack creature is unceasingly drawn to felines their foreplay familiar dogs something foreign and rarely brought round for fun
Dog Man is sensitive and he longs for a good belly rub but kitties have dirty claws and would rather receive their own scratch behind the ears the pissing in a box thing? not so clean – an illusion but one puss in the box is worth two dogs in the woods so is spoken so Dog Man clings like a kitten to the curtains
Dog Man clings and he won’t run with wolves he barks with fear and he can’t let go
The best discipline I ever received from a teacher in elementary school was, “I’m not telling you not to do it. I’m telling you not to get caught.” He was referring to my poetry notebook confiscated by a substitute teacher. She had taken particular offense to the metaphor I drew of my homeroom teacher as the falling sun.
Mr. Watson was one of few teachers who did not actively try and kill my childhood dreams of becoming a creative. The first time I received in-school support was from my grade two teacher: he laminated one of the first stories I wrote.
I carefully crafted my dreams in secret for most of my young life. Teachers and many other adults were unskillful at nurturing big ideas. They were small dreamers, and they functioned to place limits on all young lives they touched. This was my experience anyway.
There is a Bob Dylan quote that goes, “Destiny is a feeling you have that you know something about yourself nobody else does. The picture you have in your own mind of what you’re about will come true. It’s a kind of a thing you kind of have to keep to your own self, because it’s a fragile feeling, and if you put it out there, then someone will kill it. It’s best to keep that all inside.”
I feel this truth. When you have a special idea or dream or talent, it’s important to keep some of it to yourself. You have a personal legend, a treasure, and it’s perfectly okay to guard that. In fact, I believe you should. Not everything is meant for the world to see. People kill ideas. We see it every day. Not one idea can be agreed on by all people – so why try and make it so?
Keep doing what you love, what’s precious to you. At the right time, you’ll be able to reveal it to a select section of the world: your special audience. In its infancy, you must guard your personal legend so it can’t be torn down by people who take joy in setting other people’s limitations. In the meantime, work on removing self-imposed restrictions. Encourage others wherever you can, and this gesture will be returned tenfold.
Such a betrayal was this: That your fast friendships Overwrote years of promise, sacrifice, love Your quick fixes and sober thirst for escape Kept you trapped, stuck fast, held soft, not firm
I hope you realized the advice you canvassed It still seems you don’t know whose to follow Your own untrustworthy tongue clamped by repression and a determination to omit truth
Things that were difficult to clean used to be household staples
Now they are replaced by smooth and glossy electronics attracting dust within a square metre radius making for more efficient chore sessions
We are like quick machines switching from one task to another only able to keep an instruction in our mind for a very brief time because we must keep switching switching switching on and off to this and that repeat, correct mistakes respond, complete task submit submit submit
Our sleep is restless and we no longer question our dreams or if we do It is in private, a shy task abandoned before a journal entry is made on a public platform until a journal entry is censored on a public platform and we cry when no one reads our diaries how unfair how unjust how unliked
We are like quick machines lacking responsibility for our actions for we were merely programmed by our society conditioned by the ones we loved so we are okay with it because we call it normal normal normal and if we are not normal, what will others label us? what would I label myself? Would I call myself nice kind patient
Do you wonder what was in a woman’s mind as she dusted her house each day undistracted by Spotify or cell phone cry surely not everyone was seduced by day-drinking and of course they had morals morals morals What was contemplated? Was it the same as our current curse? relentless, mean and negative thoughts thoughts thoughts
If I am like a quick machine conditioned by culture groomed by carrot and stick seduction a good girl’s malediction only one thing would be worse worse worse And that would be to waste this opportunity to instead program my minds to be peace peace peace
love love love
joy joy joy
So I have filled my house with objects that I need to detail and clean with a fine tooth brush so that I might learn to focus focus focus And to fill my heart With precious living beings I need to cherish and love love love
To begin to set things straight, I clean my house and my mind simultaneously no status update needed
The Halfwit Writer 