Pushing and pulling.

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Why push?  To get ahead.  It doesn't matter if you are doing it for intellectual, spiritual, or physical reasons... specific short or long term goals... or for no given reason.  I have my reasons.  And this push hasn't been light or easy.  Some, however, are confused.  They think the pushing is making me grumpy, hard, turning me into a bastard, hard nut, or such.  No, it isn't the pushing.  It never was.  That is merely what happens when I reach, as in this case, my local maximums.  I peel off the soft and fuzzy, and what lies underneath is hard, with damned high expectations for not just myself but everyone around me.  I then begin not to care about what hurts on you or me, about how or why a failure occurred, only fixing it, and right.  Pull any weapon out of it's sheath, and shit just changes.

As lame as my work has been, it has laid bare the blade that I truly am.  It will cause fear, just as so, in some.  It will call others closer, for various reasons.  This shine will not wax unless I fall hard or quit my pursuit.  Truth be told, I am only an eight uncovered and I am already causing people to sputter and fuss.  I could tell them to fuck off, and to some extent have.  But, yeah, at least at this stage, I can see it.  Simply understand, Doom is coming back.  When full blown, as I have mentioned, you will hate me, more so if you love me.  I'm not your pansy mom or dad or favored grandpa or therapist, I will not shy from just saying it, I'm all about business.  Good, bad, ugly... do your damn job and keep the whimpering to a minimum, or better, just go away.  I know you probably can't cut it.  And I won't handhold through the hard shit.  Further, you will either survive, or most likely not.


It's not a carelessness.  It's a simple understanding.  When I am called to this sort of nature, where I go is not a place people live, only survive.  I don't have time for cherries, blossoms, putzes, or wienies.  Neither male... well... there aren't any women who ever went with me into these places.  Couldn't cut the workup.  They are for when life has been cut out of the death place, or I return.  I absolutely will not tolerate men who cannot hack it.  Including myself.  As such, if I see too much bitching, I will cut ties.  I'm not for the world many of you live in.  I am losing any care about anything that isn't vital.  Can't keep up, don't step up.  However, I realize most of you are unhappily happy with your slow road to death.  I'll leave you to it if I see that the fit and finish aren't working for you.  I'll go my own way, wholly, if necessary.  Killed my first link today, Vox wanted to hold some socio-sexual gimp's hand on the typ's slow hard road to divorce.  I won't cut Vox out completely, not yet.  But I'll leave him to easing the bedwetters further into their nightmares by softly extending them.  But if he proves to be a worldly man, I'll definitely toss the rest of my links.  Don't care, no time, I need to bleed, and become defined.  I won't mess with trivialities.  Oh, and this is my page.  Yum!  You can have what you want at your place, but not here.  Don't like it, stuff it up your ass or don't read.  Makes me no bother whatsoever.

And, as I said, this isn't my blog, it is my mind.  You can't handle that, go now, and never return.  I've got things to do and a body to bust into function.  I don't want hand-wringers, panty-wastes, or other such cluttering up my thinkspace.  I will shortshift and dump bullshit.

On the other hand, I am feeling better.  Stomach is still a mass bruise from working it and coughing, but... so.  I really do have things to do.  I am still taking this day off.  That is still frustrating.  But I will get to a few things.  The things I had planned, workwise, and maybe begin on the stick anchor.  A bit here, a long rest, a bit there, more rest.  Yeah, and I best get a shower in.  I need to be ready for tomorrow.  No, really, I'm not even in a bad mood.  This is just how the show runs until I roll my own credits.  Wait until I'm clean of that soft leather.  Yeah...  Told you that you wouldn't have liked me back in the day.  This is just a soft example.  Later.