With the annoying sound of yard machinery going on this second day of total bloom the season is upon us. After another night of bazaar dreams of the coast flooding and wondering if my bike is underwater or what was for dinner, I accept the time has come.
Reading back through some previous writings I laugh at all my mistakes and pardon the reader to try and translate what my meaning was. There seems some kind of attention disorder and I’m sure there is a cause and some kind of medication for it, but I’d rather it just exist.
Seems like the cast of characters are bellying up to the bar outside so I try to shred those puffs of ideas in my brain. The recurring writings are about personal experience and thoughts but what makes us do this?
There is a social pressure to adjust our appearance or speech or even the way we walk to be accepted. This seems to be a constant theme to my writing. Ethics, family, music, and even religion are affected.
So as we judge whom we like and don’t like on our screen do we bow to these external demands? Are we rejected because we don’t like a certain color or have not read a certain book or prefer different music or have not delved into a certain belief or can even discuss the latest fashion or entertainment trend?
We tweet and chat and Skype and whatever other media to one another over these references, sometimes getting approval to follow the string and other times shut out. If we cannot make a connection, we tend to doubt our own values. If the response is acceptable or favorable to continue our inner belief is sustained and reinforced. If the response is challenging, we may avoid the confrontation and wander away.
So I did this blog. No fabulous writing or earth changing thoughts but it has been fun to write this down. Had some good comments through the years and a few hacks, but no never mind. I gets me through the day sometimes and it clears up my ever rainbow of thoughts.
This is not a confessional but a flow of daily experiences only to be viewed as a passing billboard and probably soon forgotten.
So the truth or dare part comes to another writer. A poet. A muse. Perhaps a prophet but I’ll take the part of the fool. The wordsmith of yesterday who could explain our youth in such a flow of sentences that I could not imagine.
I’ve tried to show the way for other’s to express their ideas, thoughts, and even private moments before this is the only way we communicate now. To try to even connect with the lost years takes time in the common conversation and we all know how long it takes to get to that point.
Someone a long time ago gave me the dare. As we do so much that we had not planned to do, I accepted the dare.
So take the dare. “You first!”
Remember: Ask me no secrets and I’ll tell you no lies.