With all that is happening, and with all that is slated to transpire over the next few months, I've been largely absent from the digs of my blog. Let me encapsulate events as they have and will unfold. Mind the insertions of my viewpoint from time to time.
Going back, although I'm certainly brain damaged from a multitude of life's mishaps, I'm inclined to believe that by and large we are all a product of our experiences, not to be judged as good or bad so much as more or less defining in the development of our personalities. My youth was in many ways more colorful than tragic; my father's attempted suicide was perhaps black on the spectrum, whereas the unusual opportunities that my unadulterated, unsupervised independence brought me more than compensated for the dark times with a brilliant infusion of color manifested as bright white. If you look way back in my blog posts you will discover some of what my youth experiences brought out of me. I'm not a microcosm of these references any more than I'm a product of my history, rather I'm an extension of the whole. Consider that your past is filled with parts that can assemble in a million different ways, but can only assemble into a collection of the parts. Now consider that our minds are capable of much more than assembly, much more complex than the collection of memories, much more intuitive than we give credit, and the end product is nothing less than a spectacular result from a bag full of memory bytes, corrupted and confused with age and dimmed view. I'm not a product of my youth, but a product of its interpretation. if you see this as convoluted or obscure, I'm sure you are not alone. After reading this, even I am confused with what the author, (me), was trying to convey, but further examination exposes that he, (me), makes perfect sense. If memory serves me correctly- and it does- the experiences of my past also serve me, and as the servee, I can implement them as needed. I always have a choice. I choose the good times.
So I ran amok with a segue. So what? It is my blog and I can screw it up if I want. It makes for an interesting tomorrow. I need all those I can get. To be continued...........
Going back, although I'm certainly brain damaged from a multitude of life's mishaps, I'm inclined to believe that by and large we are all a product of our experiences, not to be judged as good or bad so much as more or less defining in the development of our personalities. My youth was in many ways more colorful than tragic; my father's attempted suicide was perhaps black on the spectrum, whereas the unusual opportunities that my unadulterated, unsupervised independence brought me more than compensated for the dark times with a brilliant infusion of color manifested as bright white. If you look way back in my blog posts you will discover some of what my youth experiences brought out of me. I'm not a microcosm of these references any more than I'm a product of my history, rather I'm an extension of the whole. Consider that your past is filled with parts that can assemble in a million different ways, but can only assemble into a collection of the parts. Now consider that our minds are capable of much more than assembly, much more complex than the collection of memories, much more intuitive than we give credit, and the end product is nothing less than a spectacular result from a bag full of memory bytes, corrupted and confused with age and dimmed view. I'm not a product of my youth, but a product of its interpretation. if you see this as convoluted or obscure, I'm sure you are not alone. After reading this, even I am confused with what the author, (me), was trying to convey, but further examination exposes that he, (me), makes perfect sense. If memory serves me correctly- and it does- the experiences of my past also serve me, and as the servee, I can implement them as needed. I always have a choice. I choose the good times.
So I ran amok with a segue. So what? It is my blog and I can screw it up if I want. It makes for an interesting tomorrow. I need all those I can get. To be continued...........
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