Transforming. No Megan Fox.

We all have our days. Dark, soiled and mangled days. Weeks even. But that fire that inspires breath never goes out. All it needs is some air, some kind kindle to spread like oceans. And it will. Just wait. Time, brutish as it may be, ticking without clocks, brings comfort. Warmth and food.

Here it comes. Its going to be my favorite song. My favorite beat. You feel it? Its in your chest. Its in your eyes when you can't even see it. But I can, and without time, you will too. Forget time, just for a second. Let it be. Forget the past. It's back there for a reason. Forget that wire holding you back from tomorrow. Cut it. We don't need any more weight.

I was having a conversation with a dog the other day. His jowl leaking saline and tissue paper, pupils corroded from accidental feasts of LSA and psilocybin, brain over the edge. He sat whining about some disturbed abstract and I couldn't argue with the beast. After all, he's 96 with hips that shake and gaps for teeth, smelling like molding towels and ravioli. I told him to back off. I wasn't in the mood for sympathy or for the revolting toxicity of his coat. He said Dont you remember me? I've just been sitting around these parts waiting for the doors to be left open or the gate ajar. Remember? My names Beau but my friends call me Queerbait. Remember?

I rolled down my sleeve, covered my hand and decided to pet him like an animal should be. I understood his angst and his need to ravage outside of his confines. I feel that feeling. The one that needs to get out like sweat. Excrement of winter. Bars. Chains. Leashes and collars. We all have them. We just need a good work out. A good run around the neighborhood pulling trash bins on top of Lexus' and terrorizing little children.

Watch yourself transform from the inside. Later it will shift. Like seasons. Like style. Like the pictures you post on your profile. Buy something to symbolize your change. For me, I bought a mantra. I've never had one that's positive or tasteful. I've never recited internal messages that perspired anything but dirt and self destruction.

From the inside out. Inside out. I watch veins turn muscles into what I forgot they looked like. With these words wrapped around my wrist, the sight of dumbbells above me no longer tempts me to put them down but instead... count off 5 more reps and add another set. Inside out baby. Terrorize children. Run like there is absolutely

no
reason at all.