Bad Luck

"And just as faith with find one's doubt . . . A search within has left without." In a Wakeful Contradiction, the first installment in the Bad Luck Series, is a deeply personal and contemporary account of the journey through post-adolescence. Written in poetic prose, with hints of roller-coaster storytelling and spoken word, Bad Luck communicates powerfully. The stories within are told from multiple vantage points, and examine the concept of "the self," through positioning the author in a range of roles, varying from protagonist to antagonist, hero to villain, and the observed to the observer, interchangeably. The result is a collection of stories and experiences, penned in reflection of actions and consequences. As a whole, it recounts an individual's search for existential meaning and purpose, as a person attempting to live - and cope - in the 21st century. Born from a desire to give structure to an otherwise chaotic existence, the works within these pages were written over the course of seven years. Incorporating thematic elements of self-worth, faith, addiction, love, and cosmic (in)significance, In a Wakeful Contradiction attempts to answer some of the soul's most burning questions, one anecdote at a time. A Search WIthin Has Left Without (Title Piece from the Book)

In a wakeful contradiction, it lays fact between my fiction.

Tangling subatomics, it unravels as its tricks spin

Deeper toward the outward. . . It won't let up, until I give in. Over matter, lay my mind.

I tell a lie to pass the time. . .

But there's no reason nor a rhyme - Less still, a purpose?

I search for something to remind my mind

That there is truth that isn't worthless. . . But as always, failure appears, in a sort-of amnesic continuity.

And my reality lies to my own mind

Just as well, as it succeeds in its futility.

With destruction as its manifest,

It tells me that I stand my tallest

upon two buckled knees. And just as faith will find one's doubt -

A search within has left without.

It seems that an answer, once sought out,

Will be left lacking its question.

My truth divides itself, as the product of infinite misdirection. I try to substitute a reason for a rhyme;

But, with no lies left to pass the time. . .

I swallow a dose of ignorance.

It goes down smoother than the truth.

In a war that started with a truce,

This world betrayed my faith to show me

That I'm only tall enough, once I've been cut down slowly. A pill too large to swallow -

I think I'm choking on myself.

Or the irony of asking: "How could I be so careless?"

Here I stand, barely standing, consumed almost entirely

By my own dry-heaving self-awareness. . . Each night, I'm left to fight the fears that my nightmares create;

I'm still running from my past and haunted by my fate.

They walk beside me always. Shadowing wholeheartedly,

They exist as a duality, both apart from, and a part of me. My ghosts have taught me very little, aside from what I hate.

But, I've come to learn not to fear the forceful hands of fate.

For I shudder not, at the thought of destiny,

Or the inevitable in time.

Instead, I fear the eventuality of the choices

That were solely, and entirely, mine. I fear that my will may be of enough influence alone,

That fate itself may collapse beneath decisions like my own. . .

Or that I, myself, might be constructing

What destruction I will find

Among my shattered spirits and convictions,

In these depths to which I climb.