Hoofed

I've written three full posts in the last couple months to/for/at you for this blog. But I've deleted and banished all of them. They were silly and stupid and heartfelt and full of the nift and plex of past entries

At their core they were fleeting. Past. Over. Silly. They were me.

And you already know me.

{blink} {blink}

Always will.

Today, during Christmas dinner, I yelled at my dad to his face for the first time in my life. What's weird is because my dying Grandma is fancy I was holding a silver fork.

I didn't quite yell. I raised my voice. And he raised his. She watched. And sighed. And had more pie. And he and me fought, trading blows like actors on a Power Rangers set, but with genuine misunderstanding.

It was about god. About respect. About faith and loss of it. We shot lasers past each other. Missing. Not wanting to really hit but trying to. Voices and curses were raised. I was shaking but I hid it.

I was really shaking a lot.

Faces reddened, both of us, at a shade much louder than any volume.

It really fucking sucked. I hated it. Fucking stupid dumb shit. Elegance evades me. I won, cause I'm right. He won, cause he's also right. That's the equation.

Two men. Stubborn. Two rams. Beasts smashing heads on a mountainside. He's not used to it and neither am I. Thick and unchallenged, old dust raised amongst the orbit of collapsing skulls.

I'm still processing it. I'm still pondering the moment, the moments. Unstuck I am from the glue of forgiveness. That means I'm using that as a starting point. It's growth. It's freedom. It's peace. It's fertilizer. It's ivory shavings.

Dust.

I love my dad. He's why I'm sane.

You, dammit.

You.

I'm done. Just starting.

I'm an evil troll. A thought monster. My existence is a crime of stolen breath.

I'm a broken branch. A snapped length. A wanting bramble. One of those classic whatevers.

Yet..

If you breath that thing I breathe....

I guess I just want to be

Oh, fuck it. Life is sandpaper. Existence is traction. And you're beautiful.