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On the outside I’m a 47 year old man with a few physical bumps and bruises. On the inside I’m a kaleidoscope of scars that bleed and scab over repeatedly. My memories are sprinkled liberally with snapshots of pain endured. Mixed with pleasurable memories, the lot becomes a mottled-mental-camouflage. It’s against my intentions to hide from the world. I think it sad that I lack the mental acuity to break that camo. It takes a while to really get to know me. My personality veil dissolves very slowly more often than not.

That which does not destroy us,,,. Stronger, is not always a good thing. Along the trail of failure strength can snowball into leviathan proportions. Pain and memories half-mix to form fledglings of wisdom. It all congeals into gargoyles that end up decorating personality. We are forever on the way to becoming who we are to be.

Old wounds rarely heal completely. Scars may fade considerably but the emotions affiliated with them hide just beyond consciousness. They lay in wait for memories to swing them into thought. The warmth of a salty tear, the sting of some long ago pain and tidal waves of dismay storm over us complete with images both vivid and vague. Each momentous memory glazes over into larger than life hailstones and splashes down into the event horizon of thought. The storm passes and residual things waft like feathers everywhere. If the muses have done their job then the artists’ cannon is well foddered. All we have to do is fire away.