Happy 40th Birthday Daddy

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     It’s strange, when it comes to the crossing of your borderline, things come to pass with little ease; the meat shipments less raw overall. I respect you as an Übermensch, how could I not quiver by the possibility of your inspectional judgment? However, thank you for severing your arms for me all the times you did, and I imagine will again. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity of striving to weave my own tightrope with your sharpened bones. And thank you for trusting me to dance across it without a fear.

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Withheld and the Übermensch

     I’m still wearing you even though I’m angry with myself. I wish I knew how to tell you all the things I feel I need to, but perhaps it’s a good thing I lack bravery in this respect because I’m not unleashing the dog you don’t deserve.
     It’s subconsciously the Epictetus thing, and now I ask: should tallies be drawn for a recorded example of my overcoming self? Am I not dangling from the tightrope, but fleeting across it with as much grace possible, save my lacking a balance beam?

     Until I cut off my arms, or until I invite someone to carve them free of my corpse, I will always be my only balance. No one will save us. No one will cross over my tightrope, or dance upon the same one. There will be no opportunity for a fellow aspiring enthusiast to toss me a piteous beam.
     If we throw our beams we sacrifice our axis. We need an arm to sever one off, and what’s the use of a single thrown arm disproportionate to my own? I will always be my only balance, always?

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