8/25/2020 09:06 PM
Living that dream
So much so that I do not easily wake
My mind blanketed across time
To each their own to take
A restless soul has a turn
With skin that dries and peels
Under late summer we burn
While the messages go unread
For there's much of the sea to see
Much more to read at the horizon
Foiled by lunacy in the waves
Sharpened teeth graze the refugee
The depths come to life as feet dangle
Awakened like newly carved islands
Barefoot before the first frost
Not looking to be found
Oh great pains to stay mindfully lost
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8/2/2020 10:25 AM
“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.
Only if we face these open wounds in ourselves can we understand them in other people. An artist is a sort of emotional or spiritual historian. His role is to make you realize the doom and glory of knowing who you are and what you are. He has to tell, because nobody else can tell, what it is like to be alive."
-- James Baldwin, born today in 1924
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6/30/2020 05:39 AM
How a random song steers me down an existential back road. At the exact time, place, and mood you were in when it came on, the memory was created. It cannot be reversed. Each subsequent time you listen to it, you already have it imprinted, hearing it not solely for what it sounds like now, but for how it did the very first time. An extra layer that only speaks to you.
An invisible barrier that separates you from everyone else, even when you're all hearing it together. There's a lonesome sense about it, that your experience is yours and yours alone. But true freedom is loneliness, to walk the desert of your mind and take stock of your potential. On your terms; in ways only you can understand given the experiences that have dotted your timeline. Where others only see a weathered, just barely-there smile.
An invisible barrier that separates you from everyone else, even when you're all hearing it together. There's a lonesome sense about it, that your experience is yours and yours alone. But true freedom is loneliness, to walk the desert of your mind and take stock of your potential. On your terms; in ways only you can understand given the experiences that have dotted your timeline. Where others only see a weathered, just barely-there smile.
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6/25/2020 07:33 PM
One of the lab techs who is always so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when I see her was quickly scrambling to conceal her teary eyes as I walked in. I caught on instantly.
She said her grandfather wasn't doing so good. I felt like this was her usual facade being lifted for a moment and I wanted to chime in with something equally personal since it doesn't happen often.
I didn't have time to screen my thoughts, but I went on a bit about fond memories I had with my grandpa before he passed. I was only 3 when he did yet I recall vivid moments with him, and I briefly mentioned them to which she smiled.
Things come and go in the present, but what happens in those early years with special people will stick with me forever.
So that was a paraphrase of my sentiments in trying to relate and make her feel less alone with this sudden news at work.
I wished him a speedy recovery, put my game face back on and jumped back into the fray.
In a way, I'm glad I could see that side of a relative stranger just to be able to have a genuine interaction. Many days it's small talk banter that I tune out. So I revealed that I'm not a robot.
Domo arigado.
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6/23/2020 10:06 PM
A moment arrives like clockwork
I stand alone in a crowd
And it walks on by without a fuss
I'm here to greet it
Each second bearing witness
To a silent unseen crime
But it does not reply
Amid the noise that loiters
That's where my focus lies
As it's replaced in short order
By the wheels of time
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6/18/2020 10:43 PM
Patterns laid bare to my eyes
Where people fall silent
All the doors swing open
Though actions prove violent
Misshapen figures shoved into the dark
Celebrated on the fourth
Fringes of thought, frayed ends band together
But I wasn't passed the torch
Separated from the flock to my feather
My history, ripped up in my hands
The wind steals it before I can learn
Products of vanity, built to last
Until they're the first to burn
Holding it to the light, the die is cast
Breathe deeply and turn the page
A pen to paper will rebuild my past
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6/9/2020 06:42 AM
Clouds pass through
As I hum the same tune
No fear in the sky
I'll be home soon
Might you join come June
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As I hum the same tune
No fear in the sky
I'll be home soon
Might you join come June
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