What You Believe

They asked me to explain what it means to be self-deprecating so I grabbed a broom and a Shmata and acted out this song.

“I don’t understand you or anything you say. But you wear me the fuck out.”

“I haven’t worn you out, not lately and not in a way you’d remember but it could happen if you weren’t scared of your own shadow.”

“That doesn’t read like it was written by a woman. It doesn’t have the right rhythm or ring to it.”

“That is because it wasn’t and it isn’t supposed to read that way.”

She looked at me, shook her head and said she didn’t understand.

I shook my head in return and said it is not hard to understand and that  if she was interested she could.

The silence that followed wasn’t unfamiliar but it was unfriendly and unforgiving. It was the herald of the end because when you have moved beyond the place where you have enough fire left to fight you are done.

You may not realize it and it is not because you are in denial but because you have lived with the silence for so long you are accustomed to it.

But the moment you connect with someone else where the conversation flows freely you the absence of real conversation becomes palpable.

What You Believe

I knew a guy who loved someone else but after having been burned a few times refused to say anything.

He said he’d rather be alone than risk having his heart torn out again.

I told him that was dumb.

“What you believe is stupid and what you feel is stupid. You let fear dictate what you will or won’t do.”

He told me I was mean and a jerk. He said he didn’t believe I knew a thing about heart break and that if I did I would behave differently.

I shook my head and told him I knew far more than he could imagine. I said if I wanted to write a book upon it there wouldn’t be much effort required to do so.

We went back and forth some more and I told him I had long since taken fear’s power over me.

“Dude, if you really loved someone and weren’t certain if they loved you back you wouldn’t risk saying it first.”

He flashed a smirk at me and I waved at him to come closer. When he got within arm’s reach I clipped the side of his head.

That set him off and we began to wrestle.

Bad move on his part because I have all the size and muscle here. So I manhandled him for a bit and threw him up against the wall.

“I haven’t any fear of saying it first if it’s necessary. But sometimes you don’t have to say it. Sometimes the most important thing you can do is watch their behavior and try to figure out if she recognizes how she feels.

You’ll spook her and she’ll run or make some other excuse.”

“Why did you whisper that last part? Is this some cheesy movie?”

I smiled and said it could be, “where do you think they get those ideas.”


Those silly words above are fragments of fiction, bits and pieces of flotsam and jetsam from inside the cavern between my ears.

It is a mix of things I have experienced, watched and or heard.

If you ask if it is tied into particular movies or clips I would nod my head and say aye.

The writer and storyteller inside my head is forever appreciative of what you see there. It is fascinating to me to think about how somethings never change.

There are certain elements and things that exist throughout the ages.


There is a different story percolating inside my head but not one I have shared. Sometimes I consider doing so but have thus far refused to do so.

I suppose if the right person asked I might consider doing so, but I might not.

That is not supposed to sound as silly and childish as it does.

It is just me thinking out loud while this song plays in my ears.

That is my gut telling the brain that it is not to let our walls down unless we feel like we will be understood by those who are allowed entrance.

It is not fear of being vulnerable but a lack of interest in doing so with those who can’t get it because sometimes it doesn’t matter if you know the sun is hot.

Your knowledge doesn’t allow you to appreciate what that sort of heat is. Your books and or papers won’t help you understand what it is like to feel like your are choking.

There are some times, some places and some people that can’t be understood or appreciated without having lived a little of what they lived.

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