looking forward

My hair is wet and dripping as I type. I feel where the water is collecting breeze-chilled in the small of my back. The time is half-past bittersweet. The day ends and it begins. I am exhausted, but refreshed, and optimistic for revival. The temperature is a recovery after a defeat. The fog is lifting, and forming shapes overhead. I am wind-battered, but today’s air is crisp, restoring: a call to focus on what is in motion.

Today is a pause in the middle of a chaotic series of actions to be summarized by what comes next; it is a horizontal pause with eyes aligned to eyes far outweighing other aspects of an otherwise disordered day. To listen in on this room would be to hear voices and laughter replaced with silence and afterthoughts replaced by voices and laughter and repeated all again.

In the voices: just some chatter. In the laughter: not a care. In the silence: glances upward, thinking, and a smile for a positive conclusion. In response: an eye squint, questioning, but a smile in agreement.

Life is filled with unfortunate occurrences and futures just barely missed; it is a series of tiny tragedies stacked haphazardly one over the next. When something lines up, when two plans entwine, when your eyes meet mine, we call it fate, possibly out of confusion, but maybe out of much more.

resignation

I have wondered if I could point a finger in some blame in some deflection. I reflect. I have felt too out of place too long although it’s all the same. I have always felt out of place. I am bored to the point of self-abuse. I am angry at, not with. I am bored to the point of no longer having an excuse. I blame myself.

The decision to leave was simple; choosing where to go was more difficult. I decided on home and to figure out the rest when certainties began to sort themselves out when my thoughts untwisted when I remembered to remember to remember who I am where I belong what I deserve. I had put it off had tried to sort out nothings had tried to try to try too much too long too prone to forget.

I am sentimental sad I am optimistic for some future.

tiny spheres

I am inspired by people I have and will not meet; I have known a few of them. I am inspired by those who reclaim their own defeats; I have had a few, myself. I learn from what I read. I learn to be human from fiction. I write a letter. I sign my name. I influence a tiny sphere.

I am inspired by people who see their story as theirs to tell; I know too few of them. I am inspired by those who laugh at their own tragedies; I laugh and cry at once. I have one point of view. I exist under a dome. I am inspired by divergent interpretations of what it means to exist under that same dome.

You ask what it was like, and I insist it’s all the same; it always goes the same. You ask why it feels different, and I insist it always feels different; it’s a constant state of steady change, but only ever here and now.

This one lifetime. This witnessing of others. This reach without a grasp. This comparing and this yearning, but the only ever witnessing of others. This aversion to staying in place to enjoy just one rotational motion. This life under this one small dome; these influencing tiny spheres. 

more of something else

I am thoughtless
I have a lot on my mind
I am thoughtless
Unable to process
Unable to know
Where to begin

I’ll begin in the middle
Toward the middle
Where I am and stand
So much for new beginnings
Just another change in plan

I am planning for a second shift
A second to shift my meaning
A change of mind
As days unwind
Revealing and reconcealing

I hold onto letting go
I hold onto an unknown feeling
Of belonging somewhere
A perfectly sized space
Undiscovered; Unrecognized
Mourning in my absence

It’s the naivety of childhood
It’s a holdout from my childhood
It’s an expectation that refuses
Selfishly
To settle down

I refuse to settle
I renounce the claim
That well enough is well enough
To ask for more is to complain
I want more

a walk in late summer

I step outside. I hear voices singing. I see something I haven’t seen before. I look down. I write about it. I read what I wrote before. Which version of me was that what was the mindset? The passage of time without memory. I’m blind to all I’ve seen. I look up. The trees tell me it’s late summer, and that only the nights are chilled. There are still cars lining streets, and cars are parked in driveways. To each I grant a place to park his v own escape, and it’s free for you to buy. But I am lying, that was a lie, and so is this, that’s all it is. Cleveland looks like the scene of a city pre and post disaster. It’s empty save for sadness. I see it written on walls I see the way the rust bleeds through. I walk on. Off-color paint that covers canvas signatures. Sheets of cement turned to rubble. Ten different ways to get to a place to be alone. I am alone here. I am alone. I hear voices singing. I see cars where they line up at stop signs, still far enough away from toxic fumes. Potted plants digging in, unaware of terra-cotta. Ivy stenciled on a wall that was also painted over. Looking down and seeing water colored from a sewer, I wonder if it’s better to sink or to swim. I wonder what I am missing I wonder what I’ve forgotten and what’s holding me to indecision. The noise. The nonsense. The lack of weight and pressure. I will not be forced first, I will only pull back. I wonder what will happen before I make an exit. I wonder how the end plays out.

balancing act

Good news is no news at all: it’s quite a tragedy. Happiness is thought a right deserved, not something free to pursue, and not something that exists independently of other people’s points of view. If you polled a billion people, in aggregate: a stable state. But individual’s individualism fills headspace with malformed omnipresent mass-deafening complaint. 

Happiness is an ideal told to children, and it is nothing to hold onto, but rather something to personally strive for when circumstance permits. Happiness is with counterbalance, save for in poorly-written stories of some individual’s utopic twist. The stability found in nature is a fundamental balance of positive and negative; it is light and dark, and it is black and white, but it is not cut and dry: we have too many equations and not enough constants for one solution alone to, in and of itself, satisfy.  

The stability found in nature is a lesson in taking the good with the bad as they exist because they both exist, simultaneously. It is a lesson in why it is the ground on which we all stand. It is fundamental. But it could also be a lesson in division and in how to stand divided and in how to pick a side and to put yourself on one too. Remember how leverage works before standing too close to an edge. Remember that fractions are parts of one whole. Remember, always remember, what it is you know. 

Think about the counter-intuition of existing on opposing sides of the same perceived problems. Think about being given different directions on how to satisfy your same drives. Think about the guidelines: pursue happiness although it is not explicitly given, raise your hand when you need to speak, and inhale when you require oxygen to continue to breathe. Think about having individual instructions for an assignment and being graded, alongside others with the similarly individual instructions, according to the same rubric.

We know everything. We have all of the information. We have forgotten. We have different instructions for the same assignment, which is to live just one life and to pursue the minimization of its frustrations. The unintended interpretation: to judge others as you, yourself, would not want to be judged. Knee-jerk reactions, in their numbing half-aggregate, are waiting for the opposition to be forced to budge.

We are not going anywhere. There are no sides, just balance. We are not going anywhere: we are waiting. Waiting for a shift in abstract tectonic plates to push and to shove and to force a newer brighter shinier steady-state. But newer isn’t always better. Recenter your gaze: focus, and remember, always remember, what it is you know.  

The sky above is blue beyond the fog, and the grass is always green, at least from where I am still standing: on the ground.

bystander

those tears in those eyes
they burn worse
– trust me –
salted wounds
in witnessing eyes;
they have nothing to do
with the repercussion stare

that smile burns too
it is an unbroken secret
sworn to silence
speaking volumes