You're the one who secretly wishes to sing and inspire listeners to heights they would not have otherwise reached. You're the one who sees injustice and dreams of righting wrongs. You're the one who feels a tingle on your lower back that signals a need to shake your rear and make the party start. You see the group of independents and know that harnessing their power would be a synergistic event. You feel others pain, and yearn to touch them only so long as is necessary to dismiss their lonliness without diminishing their sensation. You are the one who can stand in front of that tough guy and stand him down, or beat him down, his choice. You have the solution to their problem. Your body is just the thing to make a bloody fight begin - or stop.
You are a hero. The supervillain is your fear of being such. Biff! Pow! Crash! it. Embrace your destiny, if not for yourself than for those who need you. Allow your doubts and questions to guide you, not restrain you. Understand your limitations, and know that they bound capacities that will forever remain greater than you understand, without using them as an excuse not to exercise your powers. Take comfort in your ability to fail, but only as a useful by-product of your attempts to succeed.
If you do not crave victory or glory and cannot find the courage to draw your abilities out, don't lose heart. You are not alone. We are all fighting fears in perpetuity with the hope of victory. But do not succumb. Your life is a critical part of our mutual endeavor.
Posted by Matt at July 9, 2004 03:07 AMI am so coming over this thursday to pick up CoH.
Posted by: d0g_p00p at July 14, 2004 06:52 PMHave I told you lately that I love you. The only thing missing is you playing Counterstrike (or something). My image is you in a dark cyber-cafe in Mexico, surrounded by smoke and mysterious dealings (of technology, not drugs... well maybe some drugs too) sitting in front of a browned terminal with sunglasses on. You're hot.
Posted by: Matt at July 10, 2004 12:43 AMA man sits here playing the drums. Music blasts from the bar next door. Am I a super hero? Or is it just another night, lost? Because I havenīt had my fix yet. I donīt have you for tonight, or anyone. As potential walks by, peers at me before lighting a cigarette. Wears all black with too much hair gel, clicking between chat screens, her purse before the keyboard, black as well. I am a super hero? Then what must they be? A mix of gods, 14, 15, 16 years old. Milling around. So much and so little. Everywhere, here and not here. He frowns at me as I consider his postion in the cosmos. His friends laugh at the understood attention we have given each other. I look away and down, typing into the keyboard. Itīs over.
But, youīre right, not really.