The Art of Getting By

     There is great perfection in having the courage to be honest.  To rage with fearlessness at those too paralyzed to understand.  I rage....and I Regret.  Rinse.  Repeat.  Is the regret this very human connection to stand and fight for the due, present in all things?  I want to be good.  I adore that adjective.
     I want to do...good.  I hear a barrage of strings battling it out in my brain when posed with the choice to be good, to do good, or to be honest.  'Good' could kill a man you know.  Good can be somewhat...graceless.  When do common courtesy's fade to candid human interaction.  Perhaps alcohol appears in the foreground and makes it all palatable.  We can stomach the nonsense more aptly when intoxicated.  Or, on the contrary we are our most authentic selves once and all.  Why is there such difficulty in admittance?  Perhaps the horror, the horror of where we truly are would be deafening.  I want to have truthful interactions with others.  With everyone even.  I would be satiated with one a day.  What are we afraid of?  What is this ridiculous emotion which compels us to do our hearts such disservice?  Is fear even an emotion?  A cover for something more...substantial.  Something more fiendish?  Does it come in waves like misplaced anger? Is it uniquely feminine to complicate matters?  Not only of the heart but in matters of synergy?
     Men can be honest with their fists.  I often thought we had the high ground on that one.  We relate with our words.  Sure.  Lies.  We don't even know we do it half the time.  Especially with one bearing similar genetic stylings....chicks.  Chicks man.  Fucking Chicks.  We were sincere once upon a time.  But by the light of day our hideous behaviors come a prowlin'.  You'd think our encasings would remain throughout the dawn but no!  Alas, we sink into them even deeper;  Holding on with petulant hands and hate in our hearts.  Hate born from fear of ourselves and how others will respond to that depth or lacking profundity.
     How easy it is to remain there.  How comfortable it is to fall into it at our strongest.  Supplementing reality with coats of learned behavior.  I don't claim to be infallible in this.  I get caught up.  I see it.  I admit it.  So where next?  What other contaminants may I spew out to the world as to not get overtaken by them.  I don't ever want to live there.  Visiting helps to show me I still have a long way to go.  I won't fear it...me...them... anymore.  Let me bathe in the filth that I've created.  Let it find it's way down the sink.  Let me find comfort in what i possess.  Let the stains from things washed away fade and be kept at bay.