Someone shit on my writing when I was just a young boy growing up and I'm scratching at the walls of forty-years old before I've come to this realization. It's mind-bobbling to see how dramatic a shit can be on such an impressionable young boy growing up in the Midwest. It's the complaint of every child my age at that time that there is nothing to do when you're coming on up in the world, but I found great solace in being in front of the warm glow of the computer monitor at night, typing away at whatever it was my mind was thinking about at that time. I recall distinctly writing one day about "wires" and the magical colors that are inside of them if you were to cut one open and look inside. I recall people in my family talking about me writing about wires but then a big creative blur happens until the moment I type these words right now. So what happened way back then? In my deepest recesses of my mind where I've found some of my ugliest truths, or at least the ones that come out to play at night I've got some pretty profoundly deep issues surrounding the relationship that I've never seemed to establish with my Father. I think it's something of nature to naturally want not only the _"loving respect"_ of ones Father, but also their "Seal of Approval". The farther I went down that rabbit-hole the farther I've come comfortable to lean on the suggestion that my Father never got those sort of requirements satisfied by his Father and so there is no possible way in all of the Earths that I'm going to get any sort of approval in that way, either. This of course, gets uglier the deeper you go into it and I'm starting to also find comfort in leaning on the idea that **nothing said** is far worse than **something negative said**. And my Father is not some ignorant man who doesn't know what he's talking about, he's a very intelligent man and when I've seen that man shine it's almost just like you wanna leave the room because it's like watching someone surf without water. My Father knows this but I sincerely feel that he's "made it this far" into his life that he feels that there is no Otherway. Shortly he will be moving away the Southern parts of the Country and then we will never be able to fix the things that never worked in the first place. But my writing will no longer be hindered by the seeking out the approval of others. **I'm just going to let it be, and be it shall!**