Is it delusional or a contradiction to be hopeful even when it seems the words I write will they sing or fall flat on the ground and expose me for the hack I believe myself to be in my lower moments?
A bit of a long question but the answer is maybe I’ll improve. Maybe, I’ll reach that level of professional mastery. I work for the maybe. I write on for the maybe. It’s gotten me further along as writer then focusing on the real bad qualities I have as a writer. I focused on the potential. I focus on the maybe.
In these days that have gone to the doggs. Again, I wonder if maybe I am to dark and relentless in my discontent on being comfortable in pharmaceutical digital dreams and two cups of caffine everyday.
Just to get by. Just to get by. I check myself. I have a hope still. For better days. When the American dream will be done and the American West will make it’s return.
The West of freedom. The West of the Fighting and brave. The West of the defenders of the good, the beautiful, the True.
I live in a hopeful expectation. To return to the Western code of shit kicking attitude.
Yes. I dare to hope. Unlikely though it maybe that these vanilla beta bitch dream days will come to an end. I dare to hope but I don’t live in the dream of it. I hope for signs of discontent in my fellow people of the western legacy.