Sorry. Been here since the start, but just didn’t have the gumption to say anything. That’s the problem. While other procrastinators, viewers, readers, friends, strangers, seem to be having fun removing their inhibitions in this blog, I, I, can’t even arrive at the beginning of my stuttering. If it makes any sense, I am falling behind the procrastinators, so what category is that? There is just no vocabulary for how one can be so invisibly present for all these weeks.
Anyways, I’ve finally come to accept my punishment. I am Pierce, lost in my paragraphs I’ve never formed, and I would like you to hurt me. As I’ve been pretty much void of outward emotion all my life, as I stand here, I would like you to just take out all your rage you have of unfulfilled dreams against this punching bag I volunteer as myself.
Since I have never been able to express my mental hopes into a communicable form, I wish that some physical stimulation would deliver the urgency in most blunt form. I beg that you passionately beat it out of me. Although sounding cruel, it is with hope that I ask you to try this corporal method to help me rescue whatever ideas are currently decaying within me because I cannot give them breath. Up to now, I speak as though ideas do not exist. I promise, promise, they are there, and will manifest with the appropriate threats.
So, can you do that for me? Threaten me! Just physically overwhelm me! I need to be put in a ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ state where my biology takes over and spurs me into the extreme urgency of action. I’m flat, flat, flat, flatlining constantly in between ‘fight’ and ‘flight.’ Always, in between. Maybe, hopefully, with my immediate health at risk, with pain ready to commence, I will finally discover what is it approximately that I do…that I may actually under extreme conditions, do more than just stand there and think. And think. And think.