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I am really trying to figure out who I am. I have reached a real level of honesty within. I have reached a point which holding grudges or hating is not worth it. My childhood was much more difficult then I have ever admitted to myself. Never abused, molested, etc. but my family is blended. My 2 sisters are half and my brother as well. I am a symbol of my parents union, which I always knew was something that has a multitude of dimensions. I have heard constant lies or half truths about my parents. At one point I feel one sibling was almost trying to recruit me. Recruit me as they were. I have had to keep certain siblings at arms length hoping I won’t have to fully let them go. They have their side, which is valid but I feel those who spend time trying to disgrace something are holding onto some abstract truth. Anyway, just an example of my path, one issue and I must say I am blessed. I have realized that at my age now I have limited wisdom. I can see growth in my art, stages or states of mind. I am lucky to have art as an anchor in my pursuit to learn who I am. While semi successful this is what really matters. Art is a person within that listens and lets me vent.   
 What I have come to understand is you do not happen to life, life happens to you and control is a myth.

  I lay there, awake next to my wife. My mind will not quiet itself. I think of thousands of things all at once, some pleasant, some disturbing. I keep visualizing the human body which comforts me but I can’t hold it. Again and again I reposition myself but nothing works, no comfort tonight. In the back of my head is the thought that my son will be awake early and whatever sleep I might get won’t last. Again the human body, some faceless woman poses for me and all I see of her face are eyes forever changing.  

This is a losing battle. I get up and put my headphones on. I walk out on my balcony and smoke a cigarette. It’s cold now in Washington and peacefully mist falls. I think about the fact I am a night person, I always have been. Having my son has been hard on my sleep patterns. It’s a rhythm you cannot change. I am most creative at night and most aware, this is when I get things done, while the world sleeps. 
 I strum a few notes on my guitar and put my headphones back on and start writing this. The worst part is, I had so much to say, so much to write but as I sit here I can only think of the eyes I keep seeing when I close mine. The eyelashes. The tiny wrinkles emoting such expression. I can think of the troubling nature of my inner dialogue and the conflicting subjects that are on my mind tonight. Darkness and light. I stop writing and focus on Thom Yorkes voice singing “Present Tense” and an explosion of images release into the space behind my eyes. 
 Soon the sun will come up. Soon the cars will fill the street, but until then I will try and close my eyes one more time.

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