B L

Bad Luck B L

"And just as faith will find one's doubt . . . A search within has left without." In a Wakeful Contradiction, the first installment in the Bad Luck Series, is a deeply personal and contemporary account of the journey through post-adolescence. Written in poetic prose, with hints of roller-coaster storytelling and spoken word, Bad Luck communicates powerfully. The stories within are told from multiple vantage points, and examine the concept of "the self," through positioning the author in a range of roles, varying from protagonist to antagonist, hero to villain, and the observed to the observer, interchangeably. The result is a collection of stories and experiences, penned in reflection of actions and consequences. As a whole, it recounts an individual's search for existential meaning and purpose, as a person attempting to live - and cope - in the 21st century. Born from a desire to give structure to an otherwise chaotic existence, the works within these pages were written over the course of seven years. Incorporating thematic elements of self-worth, faith, addiction, love, and cosmic (in)significance, In a Wakeful Contradiction attempts to answer some of the soul's most burning questions, one anecdote at a time. A Search WIthin Has Left Without (Title Piece from the Book)
In a wakeful contradiction, it lays fact between my fiction.
Tangling subatomics, it unravels as its tricks spin
Deeper toward the outward. . . It won't let up, until I give in. Over matter, lay my mind.
I tell a lie to pass the time. . .
But there's no reason nor a rhyme - Less still, a purpose?
I search for something to remind my mind
That there is truth that isn't worthless. . . But as always, failure appears, in a sort-of amnesic continuity.
And my reality lies to my own mind
Just as well, as it succeeds in its futility.
With destruction as its manifest,
It tells me that I stand my tallest
upon two buckled knees. And just as faith will find one's doubt -
A search within has left without.
It seems that an answer, once sought out,
Will be left lacking its question.
My truth divides itself, as the product of infinite misdirection. I try to substitute a reason for a rhyme;
But, with no lies left to pass the time. . .
I swallow a dose of ignorance.
It goes down smoother than the truth.
In a war that started with a truce,
This world betrayed my faith to show me
That I'm only tall enough, once I've been cut down slowly. A pill too large to swallow -
I think I'm choking on myself.
Or the irony of asking: "How could I be so careless?"
Here I stand, barely standing, consumed almost entirely
By my own dry-heaving self-awareness. . . Each night, I'm left to fight the fears that my nightmares create;
I'm still running from my past and haunted by my fate.
They walk beside me always. Shadowing wholeheartedly,
They exist as a duality, both apart from, and a part of me. My ghosts have taught me very little, aside from what I hate.
But, I've come to learn not to fear the forceful hands of fate.
For I shudder not, at the thought of destiny,
Or the inevitable in time.
Instead, I fear the eventuality of the choices
That were solely, and entirely, mine. I fear that my will may be of enough influence alone,
That fate itself may collapse beneath decisions like my own. . .
Or that I, myself, might be constructing
What destruction I will find
Among my shattered spirits and convictions,
In these depths to which I climb.