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If I get old, I’m living easy
Find a nice, old country home
Let the land do what she wants to
Leave her wild and overgrown
When I’m sure my days are numbered
Find a nice place in the fields
Thank that little voice inside my head
For such good company
“Adversity is the first path to truth.” Lord Byron
The most important lesson on Gung Fu that I learnt today was during a Performance Racing Car training course I went to at a disused airstrip.
Immediately figure out out your nearest escape route and focus your body on formulating a way to make good your escape. This means that whilst you are aware of the dangers at hand you are not necessarily giving all your resources to dealing with them. Being aware of the problem and allowing your subconscious mind to allow your body to deal with them, while keeping your focus on the escape is the best way to go.
The logic appears to be that by keeping your focus locked onto the nearest escape route your body will automatically be oriented on the escape, allowing your subconscious to drive the skill set in dealing with the physical danger. Alternatively, if your conscious mind is focused primarily on the attack, then chances are the attack will become protracted and the attempt at escape, hesitant.
Focus on the escape, and you make it so.
Hands search for an open wound. Find nothing. Mirror deceives me. See only a well formed muscled reflection. My trust falls sh0rt of silver lined glass. I step back. The hole is gaping now. Maybe its not on the outside after all.
It’s too cold outside
For angels to fly
An angel will die
Covered in white
And hoping for a better life
This time, we’ll fade out tonight
I hear the shimmer of a hundred disembodied people outside my window. Its raining and the tumultuous rain conjures a whisper that stretches yawning into the night. Somewhere in the cacophony my mind starts to wander. What an inopportune moment to be plagued by insomnia. There is a heavy heat that presses down on me, despite the cold weather. Struggling these past hours has taught me one thing; that sleep cannot be forced for it becomes utterly compromised. Sleep, the minor death we revisit each evening, requires a letting go; a consensual goodbye to the veneer that we call reality in order to enter its twisted mirror image. So as I lay here, dwelling in my purgatory centrally placed between dreams and waking, my mind shifts to a time years ago. Bright lights flash and the saga of my life begins to unfold.
Insomnia is an enemy that cannot be fought.