I am a broken man
Limping from side to side
I rock back and forth
A fractured piece of meat
A curved, misshapen beast
My spine goes not straight
But down the path to my bruised brain
Encased in my skull a delicate shell
Of who I am
And of who I used to be
Does it matter?
Am I at all?
These scars on my face
And on my feet
Don't tell the whole story
I am not Jesus Christ
Nor am I a savior
I sacrifice for my team
And for nothing else
A release of brute strength and energy
Little thought involved
I sometimes wonder how the same person writes
That wants to strangle someone for the faintest thing
Who is Ian? Who is this? Who are you?
I am a combination of all
Not just my exploits on the field
Nor my lost self in thought
A body and mind united
Energy and happiness one
A being with many interests
A product of chance
Or, perhaps, of God
How have I arrived at this moment?
This oh so fragile, delicate moment
A piece of time no one could have imagined
Nature or nuture? Animal or human?
Both, perhaps?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why do we ask these questions?
Do you have the answers?
Do I?
Who am I?
I ask not post structurally
But curiously
A Curious George awakened from his childhood
Perhaps a man
Perhaps a beast
Perhaps both, happy and carnal
Writing to discover myself
And to discover you.
A little change of direction from normal with a little bit of darkness. Mostly just scattered thoughts from a Thursday night...I might get rid of this but it felt good to write it. I definitely consider writing as one of the keys to mental health, as prompted by my Abnormal Psychology Professor Susan Trumbetta in class today. Sometimes it can be frustrating to ask all the questions and get none of the answers, though mystery keeps life incredibly interesting. I think posts like this are important because some of the best writing comes from a steam of thoughts and consciousness that you might've never thought possible. The stream of consciousness I just unleashed onto this "paper" came completely uninterrupted, completely unprompted, and completely unscripted. For one of the first times in my life, I was able to write without thinking. Its something I'm very proud of, and I know one of my former professors and advisor Christopher White would very much be glad to see.
Take what you wish from this. I may edit and streamline it later, I may not. If I don't, consider it a photocopy of my brain and of my thoughts (and honestly, how closely my thoughts are connected to my body following a tough rugby preseason). A completely honest unraveling of my being to you, for you. I love you, reader. I hope I have touched you in some way, or at the least, made you think.
