As convoluted as it may strike you, from one perspective, there is strength in shutting everyone and everything you fear out of your life; but, admittedly, from another perspective, opening up to those same feared people and things, is, perhaps, the most empowering choice you could make.

You see, if it / if she / if he has a debilitating effect, why bother any further? Then again, if you admit to your faults, and endeavor to move past them, well, then, how can you not find respect for yourself?

Either way, it's risky. That is, depending upon the damage you've done.

But when is it not risky to scrape all that caked-on shit free of the proverbially hit fan—and while its blades are still slicing the stifling air at full force?

One can only try, although Master Yoda and (incidentally or perhaps not incidentally) Charles Bukowski both insisted that one can only "do."

According to one source, "Don't try" is chiseled into Mr. Bukowski's tombstone. And, reportedly, what he meant was that you (really, me) should only commit to seeing a task through to its desired end, or else not embark on that task at all.

Whatever you do, in the end, you'll likely take Beckett's advice, "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better." Because, as you damn well know, there's nothing you're better at.

In other news, I've finished reading Moby Dick. It was trying, but it also pushed out the limits of my skull a bit—I hope. I'll be taking another stab at Beckett...soon. Right now, it's all about Bukowski's Women, and Mary Robison's Tell Me. If you're looking for something rather different, I highly recommend Robison's Why Did I Ever. Amy Hempel once said of Why Did I Ever, "I think you can learn almost everything you need to know about writing from that novel."

So much for multum in parvo this time around. (See! I'll cross myself at every turn!) I'll be more frugal in the future. I promise.

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