of thoughts in mud, grown by scot blood, and wounds of old, and fires, and cold

this compilation made mostly out of the the fantastic, hard going, sensational, dysfunctional, brighter and darker or worser truths of my wonderfully entertaining, albeit tiring, and trying, inability to graduate from adolescence. my unwillingness, and fear, for and of growing into the self i could not know in advance would win. i never did anything i didn’t know would win, even when i acted like i had no idea. i have behaved with the boldness of a hero for the fears of a child, grasping at the glory of a lord. As my life’s book, A Highland Heart, tells in this piece:

“I love the thrill of the game, any damn game, but i love football in particular. I have always paralleled the fighting spirit of football with bravery in battle, and seen beauty in it. I’ve fallen and been beaten, repeatedly, but I always get back up.  I admit that my fervor for the fight itself has sometimes been my undoing. True to the legacy of my Scot blood I have a visceral respect for combat.  My intrinsic drive to stay in the game when the chips are down has been called courageous, but I don’t do it for the sake of bravery itself, but because “fortune favors the bold.” 

Frankly, I’ll battle with a suicidal bravado verging on stupidity, but in the end I’m not consoled knowing that I showed or even embodied bravery, loyalty to my team, fought with honor, or gave my best.  My audacity, even insanity, is fueled by the fact that there is still a cup waiting past the goal line and I want to fondle her, kiss her, and call her mine.  No matter what game or battle I choose to play or fight, I want the win. I’ll do anything for victory. And anything for my team. Like a true Highland soldier, for his Chief and Clan.”

please enjoy my words. any words, all words.

 

©2009 brent david fraser, all rights reserved