Fall, fall, fall, fall, fall...that fucking floor forever calling my name. What's the method to my madness? Strength. Pure and simple. The goal of one day waking up and feeling strong. And you know don't give me that bullshit "Oh no Fredo, you're already strong." FUCK YOU! Fuck you, motherfucker. You think you might have good intentions, and I can appreciate that, but words like that are what keep people from pushing harder. We're all strong to somebody. We're all king shit when we're standing on turd hill. I want more. I want to take this thing all the way. Fuck comfort. This is a battlefield. Everyday you sharpen your sword. You hone your craft. You hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. The funniest sometimes saddest part about all this is that there is no quenching the thirst. There's always more to be had. I remember when I use to feel a small sense of pride when I first held handstand for thirty seconds. It was hard! It was work! A two-minute handstand seemed like something of the gods! I look at that now and think 'Seriously?....I'll do a two-minute handstand in my SLEEP!' The elusive one-arm...just holding it one second seemed like near wild heaven. I got the one second, that became ten, ten became twenty, then it had to be twenty tight without any noticeable balance corrections, you get the drift. It's never enough. Strength....that limitless potential lying dormant. Daily chipping at a boulder with a hammer and nail. Sometimes all I feel is disgust at how weak I am. Again, don't you dare feel sorry for me. This is the battle I choose. Haters are your best friends. And you know what, I think we all could stand to have someone look us in the eyes occasionally and tell us "There's nothing special about you." One because there isn't...we're all just trying to do the best we can...to make sense of all this, express ourselves the best we can, finding our way through this maze of life. But two because it keeps us off our high horse. You're not special. Glory comes and goes. One day you're the talk of the town, the next you're the old has been. I'm rambling here, I'm ranting here. Strength. I want to feel strong. I want to one day fully be able to express the multitude of emotion and fire inside me through handbalance, my art, my hell, my heaven. Will it ever happen, who knows. I think it will. Right now I got a lot left in me to prove though, and I'm comin' for all of them. Tell the man at the front to lock the door on the way out. To everyone else out there that's goin' for theirs, to anybody out there with their face in the mud...keep going, you're not alone. We're all gonna make it.
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