The Personal Truth

I think the difference in journaling and blogging is the truth in personal reflection. Some things are harder to share from a journal to a blog whether it’s just because it’s seemingly scattered thoughts or, just to personal. I look back on journal entries sometimes and think, “man, what was I thinking.”
The truth is, that truth exists between the lines. It’s in the expression of what is written or said and lack of truth is not deception in this case it’s just a matter of personal perception in what is read or written,  spoken or heard. The key to understanding and finding that truth in those things is simply the elimination of introspective variables. When you eliminate what you want to believe from what you know to be true you leave behind self deception and let the personal truth come shining through.

Salutation Pending 
Johnny R Draper

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It Spins

When I was thirteen years old my uncle taught me how to slowly lower the arm of a record player onto the vinyl record without scratching it. Vinyl records….a very delicate thing. This concept was quite figurative in comparison to threading a sewing machine while it is running.  The needle itself that scratched out the audio and transferred it to the speakers was made of nylon I believe and would dull over time. If you didn’t replace it regularly it would widen the grooves in the vinyl disc causing them to sound bad. The alternative though was to buy needles made of graphite commonly called diamond tips. These eventually had to be replaced too but not as often and they didn’t dull, they would just snap over time.  When compact discs (or, laser discs) came along we were led to believe that they were virtually indestructible. This was not true. They were compact but, just as delicate as a vinyl record. Through the transition of this genre there was a lot of skepticism throughout ...
Read more

In Passant

A voice like tears stressed and strained Seen through but not broken by The invisible storm, pressed and rigid creak of panes, shrilling but unbroken.  It is the wind in passant, crowded, lulling, and, never truly gone, hissing. Wave after benign wave making the world Collapsed, louder, closer. Sorrows from its deep howls and moans Rise from its empty gullet like ribbon wrapped and rolling Fingers bent, bones showing, under leaves, Crumpled brown and plucked away to become Wraiths in the night.  It is not wicked but, empowers the complacent, Stirring invocation to change at its very roots and, Hidden places where shadows deepen to linger, Long and sullen. It is the wind and it has spoken in, Its tongued aspiration, perpetual, in motion 
Read more

Sun Bleached Shadows

Pretty song bird where did you go I can hear you on the wind but I can’t see you, I am led adrift, astray, bound to wayward,  By your song, and phantom scales abounding To where stray brown leaves go, to Give body and color to the wind, Over and over again in the,  Sun bleached shadows and flowers frowning. I am lost in the memory of that strain Vexed in silence just beneath the rain but,  Gone when fixed upon, muted, omitted, And though I can’t here it any more I am still hypnotized by its repetition I am complete in its climax and grasping, At resolution in its conclusion, collapsing, And then, it begins, all over again.
Read more