pkin-j

Sometimes when I tell people that I am or want to be an artist, I am surprised by the response. I expected to hear "Can't cut it?" or "Picking stock isn't for everyone." or "You're crazy." or "You're nuts." or "You're retarded." And so on.

But yeah, I made a million bucks. I'm a millionaire. Don't tell anyone, it really ought not be discussed. The interesting point is it really comes down to a single fundamental factor. All else is bologna on the path. What do you believe in?

It's perceivable that I believe unconditionally in that I am an investor, that I will not retire poor, that I may be in a position to "retire" from wealth creation to intellectual and cultural investment in the hopes of sharing an outsized and valuable contribution to the collective unconscious of our community.

I'm exhausted.
And I would never have fathomed the source until it hit me like a bag of bricks.

Last night,
I was lookin' in the mirror.
I saw that face, and I knew I could never escape.
That big fat gut, why don't I look fatter in pictures?

Because I'm holding my tummy in. All day. Every day. Convincing myself that I'm not really that fat. But now it's gone beyond appearance. I physically feel myself bend over to flush the toilet differently than I should. It feels all out of whack, like I'm a bobble top starting at the nipples. Then I exhale. I really exhale. I let the sides of my abdomen relax and put down the basket. Wow. That makes more sense. That's how fat I am. OK. You know what? This is as bad as it is. This is good. I'm looking at the honesty of me at the moment. I broke through this unconscious trap where I was sucking in my gut all the time. 24/7. And becoming aware of it by releasing the grasp was tremendous.

My back feels less stiff. I feel like I'm standing more erect. I feel more present in the moment. balanced and prepared to focus on the impending now, rather than the receding shoreline of the shaff you already parted.

I've had some pause. I've seen some truth. And i breathe inside for inspiration.