Iron Clad

This may be the last thing that I write for a while, and by a while I mean a long, long time. A measure of time that might be forever. I have in the past 24 hours come to realize that I am not, in any shape, form, or fashion, good at communicating. Via text, blog post, or in person, I am clearly bad at expressing myself. Everything, I say or write is either wrong, or well let's just stick with wrong. Being wrong all the time about everything has a unhealthy effect on one's being.  It just begins to wear down a person's 'soul' like water does to a stone over the years.  Though unlike the stone, my particular soul, does not take a polish. It just wears down, and at this rate there isn't going to be any soul left very soon.

That loss of soul as it were sounds bloody awful, and I can not seem to arrest it's erosion. I am not sure that going silent will help, but I am willing to give it a shot. After all, the words I have been using have seemed to caused a lot of misunderstandings, and me a lot of grief.  A quick glance over these pages will reinforce that opinion. I am not good at this, I am not going to become good at this, and doing things badly isn't really an option. I am not good at so many things that it boggles the imagination. Some of them I have to continue to do just in order to get around in the world, but this is not one of them, and this I can, and have to stop. It just seems that I am a flat head screw driver in a world full of Phillip's headed screws. Useless, and out of place. A tool that has lost its purpose for existing is no longer a tool, it is superfluous.

I have tried, but can no longer ignore the signals that 'mission control' is sending. It has been painful obvious to anyone with half a brain (i.e. NOT me), that this is not working. It is a clear indictment of me that I haven't figured it out before now. I wish I could say I have an excuse other that stupidity, but I don't. I won't try to defend myself, for there is no defense for me. Maybe the truth of the matter is that it has been pure vanity that has been propelling this blog along for quite some time. It is time to turn this ship of vanity towards the sun and steam straight ahead. Burn up and burn out all at the same time. The ashes might make a wonderful pile. However, I doubt that pile would cause too much concern except for the person or persons who would have to clean it. 

I do hope that somewhere, someone, may have gotten some enjoyment from all of this drivel. From this extended 'love song' to everyone I know, but I doubt it, and even if they have, well the miscommunication by far outnumber the enjoyments. It is an article of (my limited) faith that once you start have miscommunication, then you are never quite the same again. Miscommunication is like a snowball rolling down hill very fast. It gathers speed and mass, and just rolls over everything in its path. It is that snowball of miscommunication, that force of nature that I cannot seem to arrest, cannot seem to control or guide that has rolled right on over me, and left me blue from the cold.  Things, especially certain things, become brittle when they get cold, and when things get brittle, they break.  This is broken, and I do not believe that, at present, I have the ability to fix it. As Rimbaud, a real writer, figured out a long, long time ago, and with such brilliant insight, there comes a point where a 'writer' has to stop 'recording' and just merely stop writing. This is the point at which I find myself today, I hope (I guess) that it isn't a fixed point, and I will be able to move past it. I also hope that my (all too few) readers have gotten some pleasure from this journey, but for now this is my exit, and I need to gather my belongings, return my ticket, and get off this train.