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| Muchsin & Titiek Sandhora, I'm not sorry. |
On Buddha's deathday,
wrinkled tough old hands pray -
the prayer beads' sound
- Matsuo Basho
I had intended to start off this current literary undertaking with the following line:
*cue Shaw Brothers Films' trumpet fanfare*
"Some years ago I had an online journal ....."
And that is where I stopped myself before I committed the second greatest criminal act that one could pull on oneself: to reminisce fondly upon past "glories", to never escape from the constrictive comfort zone built on past "successes", to LI(V)E IN THE PAST.
"Some years ago" has gone. So what now?
If anything, this blog is only a small part of a multi-faceted, many-pronged approach & attempt at a massive exorcism ritual; an intricate, drawn-out ceremonial proceeding full of symbolism & meaning, all designed to banish the ghosts which have long threatened to hold back my progress as a "human becoming" (because I am not content to just "be", improvement & evolution is integral to survival & growth).
You see, if immersing yourself & getting lost in that rose-tinted haze of past glory is the second greatest injustice that you could do to yourself, then the greatest injustice ever is to let the FAILURES of the past prevent you from achieving all the SUCCESS that was always meant to be yours.
Yesterday I said tomorrow; it has come & gone.
This serves as a snapshot in time; a documentation of a healing process, a record of growth & if all else fails; a randomly put-together literary collage of stories, rants & sweet-nothings whispered softly into the ears of an unwilling audience whose hands & legs are fastidiously tied with duct tape; a rusty pen-knife wielded with such delicate poise & lovingly held with sublime pressure against taut, dry, nervous throats.
Sweet.
My name is The True Zachariah Elias & I am a very, very naughty brown boy.
