auto-realizations
I've been a thousand places and I've seen a million things. Perception is... just that, perception. Mirrors are not magnifying glasses and concepts become lost in their translation. Passion is born from good and bad; knowledge I've consumed with age. Things are never quite what they seem. It's a rank and ardent ignorance that let's anyone assume they see beyond the looking-glass what's more than anyone wishes for them to see. I have no tolerance left for careless disillusions.
I've spent countless hours helping people now. Homeless men and women, infirmed elderly, battered wives; people praying for their miracle. The other day I sat next to a man, doing my best to help him avoid a cold night on the street. He reeked of alcohol, the local bar, a fond memory of home. And while I helped him I thought of my father's face, his drunken smile, his stammered-slurry speech. Somewhere between it all, Joe spoke, but I heard my father's voice, "Jen, I love you babe."
And it became more brilliant than a sudden flash of light that we can never really know. We cannot know when the truth is the truth, when a fake is a lie, when situations will lend to disaster. We cannot know based on a look, on an instinct or a hunch, on hopeless, hapless, vague, and situational meaning. All we have is feeling which can and will be notoriously wrong. -smiling softly-
It is the way of the world, but that doesn't mean we are borne to it. We only bear the crosses with the burdens we wish to carry. Perception is not the albatross; refusing responsibility for misunderstanding it really is.
I've spent countless hours helping people now. Homeless men and women, infirmed elderly, battered wives; people praying for their miracle. The other day I sat next to a man, doing my best to help him avoid a cold night on the street. He reeked of alcohol, the local bar, a fond memory of home. And while I helped him I thought of my father's face, his drunken smile, his stammered-slurry speech. Somewhere between it all, Joe spoke, but I heard my father's voice, "Jen, I love you babe."
And it became more brilliant than a sudden flash of light that we can never really know. We cannot know when the truth is the truth, when a fake is a lie, when situations will lend to disaster. We cannot know based on a look, on an instinct or a hunch, on hopeless, hapless, vague, and situational meaning. All we have is feeling which can and will be notoriously wrong. -smiling softly-
It is the way of the world, but that doesn't mean we are borne to it. We only bear the crosses with the burdens we wish to carry. Perception is not the albatross; refusing responsibility for misunderstanding it really is.