another_look_at_life dondeestanlosjaguares I want to write this because I could never find the right words when I am speaking. At least this way, I won't use the wrong words. I am in charge of some unspeakable destiny, and yet, I do not control it, nor can I really comprehend it. Instead, I am forced to turn over rocks at low tide, looking for small, crawling crabs, most of the time unsuccessfully finding nothing but sand. These crabs represent truths: parts of me, my life, what I'm supposed to do with me life, what I'm supposed to change. Most of the time they get away and hide under a bigger, heavier rock, or a slimier, slippier one, or one with barnacles so hat when you try to turn it over, your hands scrae themselves and bleed. The thing about reaching for them is that they pinch, and that isn't a pleasureable experience, but a necessary one, nonetheless. The bigger the truth, the bigger the crab, and the more afraid I am to grasp it. This only makes things more difficult and frustrating. So when will I ever know what to do with my life? What is extremely interesting about the matter, is that, like the tide, life changes, therefore, when you seemingly have a nice collection of different-sized crabs, you have to let them go at the end of the day, or take them with you and let them slowly perish. This is one way I look at my life. Recycling crabs, sometimes running into the same crab over and over. Continuing to look for something I could only hold on to for a few moments, before I have to release it into the tide. ANd once again, start from the beginning, bucekt in hand, ready to catch those crabs, ready to discover my life today. . . .again. 030923 ... ashmanzhou a final glance over my shoulder 030923 ... twisted soul sometimes you just can't get past the barnacles 030924 what's it to you? who go blather from