I will make it through this year if it kills me

August 29, 2012 § Leave a comment


“I could hear the alcohol in my blood hum.” This Year – The Mountain Goats

I feel like I owe you apology. I owe myself an apology. I have taken you for granted. Too many nights I have pissed away on shit that doesn’t matter, that has no repercussions, no risk, no legacy, no meaning. Bad TV dramas, fucking awful reality television, video games. They numb the brain. You can feel it, like wet cake dripping inside your head. To me, this matters. You matter. You the people. You who come in your drones, from all corners, the off screen tells me. Where. Everywhere. To hear what I have to say. To listen to a drip-feed of self-indulgence. I fear I lost my way. I fear a lot these days. It is my opinion that a writer should learn to type quickly so that what they are thinking and what they are writing can become one thing. A stream of thought. Honesty is so rare. This is honesty. This is me. This is what I try to provide to you the people. I’ve been uneasy my whole life. Insecure, fucked-up, scared, dishonest. I’ve been a liar, a thief, a coward, a drunk, a junkie. But this doesn’t make me different. No, this doesn’t make me different. It makes me the same. It makes me like you. What sets me apart, what sets us all apart is the other things. The brave. Being brave, standing tall, fighting for what matters, whatever that may be, put yourself out there, trying, risks. This sets us apart. To me a man who dies on his feet has always been worth 100,000 men who die on their knees.

So line up you brave. Line up you foolhardy and you die hard’s. Line up you gamblers and you fighters, those who never spent a night in a glasshouse. Line up those who try in the same line as those who fail and those who succeed. Line up and stand tall. This is your homecoming. This is your swan-song. Your final notes. Die on your feet.

This is my 100th post.

No Longer an Astronaut.

Simon Blake.

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