“Life is a militia against malicia, or malice,” so says my favorite aphorist.
For too long I have fought the wrong war and the wrong enemies.
It wasn’t that they weren’t enemies; they were.
Just the wrong ones.
My evolution has been slow and many times regressive.
I devolve, and then must trudge through familiar mud once again.
I see my own blood under my feet.
Again and again
I end up re-fighting those wrong enemies
before wising up and moving on.
I’ve finally come to a place of acceptance:
Life is a war.
But I can choose which war to fight.
I can fight worthy enemies,
not the unworthy garbage I have for decades.
I can see the world each morning with fresh eyes.
I can write—even if no one is reading.
I can speak out—even if no one is listening.
I can laugh—even though I feel like crying.
I can cry—even though the rest of the world plods numbly along.
I can thrust both middle fingers defiantly at the creeps and maggots
and leeches and abusers and horrors that have swarmed over this planet
like a disease, and I can fight back.
I can fight back!
Fractal art: Letting the Drain Take Me by yours truly