samuraiMy friend called me this weekend from some sort of ninja and/or samurai training camp in northern California. I’m not sure if this was an objective description or simply what he equated it to in his admirably delusional mind. We used to be best friends but now only talk a few times a year. I think about calling him once or twice a week, but opt out for a variety of reasons. Sometimes it’s because he represents an older, less wise version of myself that I’ve tried to starve and push away. Sometimes it seems his propensity for craziness will shine a stark light on the secret shame of my ill-fitting sanity. This weekend he left a message. He is the first and last friend that I actively shared a psychosis with. A cohort in impulsive creativity without judgment. Much of the time, however, we were at each other’s throats, each trying to outdo the other at rewriting some amorphous criteria of cool. No one’s ever made me so angry. He was usually the victor in whatever unspoken competition we were engaged in, whether it be physical or mental.

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On a road trip with my dad when we were 12 I grew so furious with his very presence that I lured him into a hotel stairwell and attacked him. He was much stronger than I and all I could do was take a chunk out of his cheek with my teeth. The mark was so obvious that I had to explain my inexplicable transgression to peers and adults who were also on the trip. I imagined his expression to be smug. I had played into his hand. Lesson learned, next time I would be smarter. I saw him occasionally throughout college when I would return home at regular intervals. Sometimes he would have

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facial scars that always made me think of my attack. Once he had been running from the cops and they tackled him on some gravel. Another time he had provoked some young military personnel up in Washington. It had been some time since I

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had felt the pangs of jealousy or anger at his actions. He had taken the competition in direction that I was relieved I had no desire to pursue. At some point I had clawed my way from the social fringes to the center of the normal spectrum. Perhaps his perceived dominance on the margins forced me to more fertile pastures. I’ve started to see that the beauty of growing older is becoming comfortable in your weird and terrible skin; understanding that if you are a civil beast, your clumsiness will be forgiven. Where I saw my friend charging through china shops and reveling in the destruction, I took pride in an obsessive respect for tidiness and property. generic cialis india Neither persona fits me well. My friend and I have since calmed down. Our talks bring us to the center that we both crave, a middle ground big enough for anyone who can sit still for a while. Last I heard he had a nascent massage practice, was putting on plays in his living room, and was planning on building sensory deprivation domes. According to his most recent message, I believe he’s revived an old plan to live in the woods for a while and logically study the nature of reality. At a time when I find myself compulsively planning for the future and minimizing risk at the most minute level, I can’t say all these ridiculous notions that I know would make me miserable don’t make me just a little bit jealous. Or nostalgic. I’m not sure which. But everything I wear these days seems to itch the crap out of http://cialisfromindia-onlinerx.com/ me.

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