This past year has been a whirlwind tour through the glamour and glitz along the highway of fame one travels while becoming an internet radio and social media icon.
Yes my friends, the flashing luminaries of the paparazzi, the full body bathing from the national spotlight, and the appreciative roaring and laughter of the worldwide audience makes freewheeling down the entertainment superhighway, a pleasurable and exciting road trip, however…
Sometimes, one needs to veer onto the closest exit ramp and come to reintroduce one’s self to…um…one’s self, at a rest stop I call, Motel Introspection.
It’s good to check-in to a room at a motel, where…there’s no one to fix your sheets or fluff your pillows…no room service…no one telling you how awesome you are…There is only you, where you have been, and…who you have become.
When I relax there, I get back to my roots and in touch with my core being by the only means I know.
Poetry.
For instance, the other night I was thinking about how season one of the IWS radio show was coming to an end and thought:
‘Neath the purple, swirling haze of autumn,
the languid cry of the last cicada
weaves a dirge with an orphaned cricket,
as fields lie barren from stream to thicket.
And so it goes…
And then, I reflected once more and my thoughts turned to the beginning of season two, and pondered:
Like the head of a whore popping up from her latest blow job,
The scarred sun once again rises,
Tempting the dreams and expectations of every man.
But at what cost…at what cost?
My life is a mill wheel, my friends, and the successes I have had, the mistakes I have made, the shattered dreams and brief encounters that lie in pieces upon my soul are the grist that make up the loaf of bread I call, Me.
My stay here at Motel Introspection may be brief or it may be extended, but I know that when I do check-out, I will be a better man.
But at what cost?
Cheers,
Matt-Man
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