i can remember every misstep, every regrettable word, every pigheaded manoeuvre, with an astonishing clarity, as if my cells were programmed to record shame in all its wonderful iterations. and yet it happens again and again; my brain-mouth-body composes its own organism, separate from my better inclinations...before i've even finished disgorging the words, somewhere inside me a little spirit grimaces.
i've long known i cover up insecurity with an ineffectual bravado. not very original, i know...and also--this insecurity, or better put, lack of self-knowledge becomes an omnipresent taint in all of my relationships...in moments of clarity, i question the nature and value of my relations with people, past and present.
but but and BUT--there's a viscous circularity built into this type of thinking--once entrapped, its a big old beyotch to get out of. genetically disposed to see only the shadow and not the light that casts it?
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