Ballad of a broken man

The older I get the more I worry about who I’m turning into. The more you worry that you’re gonna end up like your parents. Scared that you won’t end up anywhere near as good.

My consciousness of sin and inability to be GOD used to drive me to my knees and to humility, it seems that I used to accept correction. I could learn lessons and take them and rejoice in the fact that “yes I am a *&^%$£@ asshole”, yet gloriously redeemed by GOD’s grace.

But it seems something’s changed (at least for today…) I seem to get only angrier as life goes on. My frustration with my sin and pride, my loneliness, my bitterness. All dealt with with such anger and bitterness in my heart.

It was easier when I was in NZ (that old chestnut), when I wasn’t so connected to everything. When not having to give a shit was an option. When I could fool myself into believing I was a free and easy soul, “we have all the time in the world” to live,  love and be free and rest our minds on the head rests on trains and stare at the country passing us by. When it was all like the movies and I could pretend the fantasy was all real.

Maybe I’m turning into a miserable lonely old bastard, finding redemption in work and escapism in books and music.

Sometimes I think I’m just another post modern hopeless traveller, no idea where I came from and not a clue whereI’m going. I enjoyed Kerouac far too much.

And this is all I contribute. My sin.  My waste and pride, “the shit I walk on comes in with me.” makes me wonder how I ever managed to steal GOD’s glory with a current and back catalogue like this.

Why so downcast o my soul. Rejoice in the lord for I will yet praise him.

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2 Responses to “Ballad of a broken man”


  1. 1 Skeeno March 11, 2008 at 11:50 am

    I can relate

  2. 2 Van Peebles March 13, 2008 at 10:58 am

    I always wanted to open a cafe called Kerouac Rocks,


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