Charlie's Blog

There is a cloud, nebulous and overzealous; overbearing but not overhead. Suffocating but comfortably so, like a child wrapped tightly in a warm blanket. The illusion of safety coming from a loss of control or is it more? Is it comfortable? Desirable? Worthy of pursuit? Is comfort or control paramount? Or is the premise of the question flawed? Are they even mutually exclusive?

The cloud obstructs like the blanket but unlike the blanket it is not movement that is impeded, it is perception, reception, evaluation, planning, and action all falling down like dominoes in a row. A chain reaction of failure. Is this cloud some gargantuan, epic, limitation extraneously placed as a limiter? A hazy governor to dull our senses and keep us grounded lest we discover something more?

Despite what our overdeveloped sense of paranoia would have us believe, we all know that the cloud--while artificial--is not externally birthed. It is self-inflicted by imperfect thought. Is it so painful to see that we block out the sun? Are we so afraid of our potentials that we lock them away? Do we fear our failures more than we savor our successes?

I say: "If we are prisoners, let it be in the prisons of our own making. That way our hopelessness is incomplete. Let our proficiency at failure be so adept that we routinely fail at the very enterprise of self-sabotage. If only failing to fail were the same as success.