Starving it is Worse

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


There is a dark stain on my family that has been passed down through at least ten generations. It seems to affect men and women equally but no more than one in any given generation though we all seem to carry it. I can trace our weakness through four generations in the United States and six more back in Scotland. Is it in our genes? Can DNA capture corruption that goes well beyond mental illness? Or is it something more mystical like a curse that acts like an ash-y thumbprint smudging across my very soul? I don't wish to be an agent of evil but it takes real effort not to act on opportunity. Sometimes I realize that I've been maneuvered like a horse by an invisible rider into situations where I'm forced to actively fight myself. I know that I'm doing the right thing but it doesn't feel right. I'm not denying my own responsibility in anything that might happen. I'm merely wondering if there is anyone else out there who has to fight a monster inside them every single day. A beast I am, lest a beast I become


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