It's been only recently that I have understood the term "being present" in oneself. I never thought about it until probably last year, so I was 26 years old when I guess, you could say, I first realized that I wasn't fully present to myself. And as I age (and live), I see so much of me I've yet to question and carry toward salvation (by a God who lives in me and is me). Nihilism? Nietzsche, Whitman, Dylan, and me, I guess. According to some, it's possible, through religion, to find freedom amid these circumstances; it is to one's knees she should go to transcend the dialectic. I can't help but remember, since it's in my history and all, that I've tried going to my knees--in all possible senses of that phrase--and found myself perpetually shafted. Pardon me while I stand up.
On marriage, I have so little to say, and I guess that's because my marriages were both so short and destructive to my wellbeing that I am a bitter, jaded divorcee whose misery loves company and whose woe, I guess, would be me. In truth, if our present social gaiety could produce but a handful of truly happy marriages -- if they're Christian, that's even better, since they're free and all -- then I might reconsider God's omniscience and get back on my knees where I belong.
Probably not, since now I've totally fucked the whole concept up for myself and all reading. It gives an entirely dueterocanonical connotation to the art of geneflux.
Enough of this dribbling diatribe. I've a tower to shake.
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