Spanish Verbs

I railed when I was overwhelmed by conjugating "To Be" in Spanish. 

 So much so, I embraced quitting under the banner of feeling I didn't belong, I was too stupid, et al.  Then I examined that technique and pondered if it really delivered anything even remotely near satisfying?

Nope.

And then follow that thought like a rabbit trail through the briars to recognize we're all about that, (or me at any rate); trying tools over and again to discover which ones really provide the desired results.  Let's face it, most of the hammering in the dark is a combination of the pitch blackness of the unfamiliar situation, and, when light arrives, seeing we've been clobbering away with a screw driver.  "Oh my"

yes, tons of laughter.

I thought I'd share that.  Finding demons is the quest of sinners, so it is best not get that on your lily whites.  No siree.

I found this in one of those countless pages saved for 'some' reason; a cyber junk drawer of sorts. 

   When we fall flat on our faces for the crazed sculptor who drinks himself into a stupor whenever possible, or the lecherous tramp who wants to put a bag over our heads, what it really means is that we want to be that fellow.  Difficult men are considered cool, romantic, interesting.  Difficult women are considered deranged, sicko, neurotic nymphos.  So we see a fellow who is trouble and we identify.  All those secret subterranean urges that we deny in ourselves are manifested in this man, and we fall madly in love with him, often not even vaguely aware that we’re falling in love with an aspect of ourselves that we’ve denied, hidden, blocked, felt terribly ashamed of, ignored. 

   As I continue on this interesting exploration into the "ways of minds" studied by those who are curious as to 'why is that?'  I am amused to see a reoccurring theme of seeking some authority to point at and use as a navigational reference. Ever on the prowl of distraction in order to avoid the horror of any truth that would suggest perhaps that our nightmare concerning our worthiness might be true.  How sick is anyone who can laugh in the face of adversity? 

   Hey, I'm only passing through is far more wholesome to my way of reasoning then to abandon all hope and resign from the very excellent conditions that whispers the key to success is to choose correctly.  Heredity offers its superstition about powers beyond our comprehension dabbling in the insignificant pursuits of creatures like us.  If I could manifest concrete out of thin air I'd not be messing with insects, so where does torment make sense but to those poor souls who need blame as a blanket to keep their fears and insecurities warm?  I'll decline the offer, thank you very much.

I'd rather conjure scenes in my skull that only I can witness; allowing as I will, lust to flex its muscles.