Ironman

***Edited 12/29/08 - Hurray for time traveling posts***

I suppose that I've done it to myself really.

I've forgotten this post twice since I placed the space holder and tonight a new meaning comes forth.

Talking about friends and what they think of me, etc. Not a big deal. The only reason why I care what people think is to use them as a litmus test to see if I think I'm living the right life, and lately I know that I'm not. In any case, the words were of a friend who Vermillion thinks me odd with outdated ideals, "Like chivalry?" I blurted, oh I deserved that one. Her reaction was far from confirming and I knew the truth. It's why I put this post here.

My two selves are more disparate than they have ever been before and it tears at my very existence. My old self would run me through with a sword as soon as talk to me, while my current self is clinging to that old shell of what it is that I remember.

Two things come from this post, first of all it is to talk about what is expected of men. Men are warriors. We fight, we lead, we take care of our flock and our people and we never yield. That is the glory of being a man. To do the heavy lifting, to be a brute, to fight the wars and to die early.

This vision of a man is as cold as the iron suit that he wears into battle. He is an Iron Man. This is what is expected of us. Women will often tell you how they want to see your sensitive side, find me one, I should like to talk to them. Instead they like to know it is there. They like to raise the visor of your helmet, see you, and then send you back to battle. This is what I see from many. Inside, a man is fleshy, he bleeds, breaks, wearies and dies. Left behind is his Iron Man.

In a different vein using a similar mode, my current self is the broken and disembodied remains of what was that warrior man. I am broken, weary and weak. I am a coward and all that is left is my Iron Man. There you see it! Look at its ferociousness! Fear it! The foolish fear it and stay from it, there is much fearfulness to behold, but it is empty. Maybe it might kill you if it fell on you, but instead you fear a specter of a man who no longer resides there.

The warrior there that was chivalry, that was stalwart that was the defender that was courteous that was strong that never wearied and was brute force and fear mongering strength is gone now. Empty shells a testament that he did once stand, a symbol of what he used to be is all that is there now. I am outside of that armor looking in. Not sure how I am removed from armor that I was born into. I am no longer that warrior, but I desperately seek it with every breath. It is cold here, it is death here, I am not that man and there is no going back, but perhaps soon I may be able to recover.

One thing that I do keep is my damning persistence of never giving up. Maybe that's all the fight that I need. I will see myself in the right again if I die seeking to obtain it.

I will be respectable again, courteous and helpful instead of a flake full of nothing but empty promises and negative energies in the form of insults and bad examples...