Ah, the hate. Every time this demon sneaks up and takes me down, until I am standing in a pile of splinters, it allows me to recreate a more desirable ground in which to navigate my every engagement.
I somehow enlisted the long-haired twenty-something stoner from the local music shop to be my teacher. When we started, he told me a few things about himself. He said he failed pretty much everything in high school. But he loved music, and loved playing guitar. And he could teach me to rock if ...
I see your hurt and hunger. I support your right to stand up and be counted. I champion your individuality and unique glory. For every scar that is stamped onto your being, a remnant makes its way to mine.
Even if you discuss ideas and content that books have been written about, it will never be the same thing as when it is expressed through the original being that you are. When you peel off the voices of others that have accumulated and calcified, you bring out your own voice.