A Map of the Pain (The Morning After)

     Got up and re-read yesterday’s blog post.  WOW, did I sound high. My mind was all over the place–fucking Sylvia Plath!  I haven’t thought about Sylvia Plath in years!  How’d I come up with that bit of poetry?  And more importantly–did I quote accurately (ha, ha)?

     To follow that, let’s hear from your friend and mine, my favorite poet, Walt Whitman: 

Do I contradict myself?
Very well, then, I contradict myself.
(I am large–I contain multitudes.)

      Exactly how I fell in love such a romantic poet, and Transcendentalism in general, I’ll never know.  My personality is mostly hard-headed, rational, unemotional.  I fancy myself a positivist.  Swoon over David Hume, and all that.  Loved stoicism; Marcus Aurelius.  

      But there is a something in my character…something incongruent with the rest.  Something extreme, radical, excessive, violent, illogical.  Like a streak of fantastical ore in the granite of my character.  

      I must get it from my father.  One of his gifts to me.  

      If I can harness it, it is a tremendous source of power–great talent.  

      If I can’t, it destroys me.  

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