Carving out a corner to post random crap.
With a full belly and a glad heart, keep peeling away at the shellac. You know it's all for show and the real work is hidden beneath mounds of scraps. Tap into the energy of the silver sliver in the sky. Thanks to your dietary restrictions and ponderous tire kicking, your Cycle of So-So is about to be over. You get a golden scar for coming this far.
Finish what never got started and move on.
H-ville's strung with Christmas bulbs way before the wishbone's snapped. And the hottest floor show begins at 7:00 on Falcon View Lane. Mrs. Stephens shakes her good frame from the second-story window of a mock-Tudor. She knows where the light falls best to caress her curves. By the way, neighbor Gary's got ageusia and still doesn't miss the $5.99 Tuesday special at Chik'n & Biskit. Bells are rung by the special ed kid who laughs as he plans his next attack. Sometimes doors are opened.
Alex sits in the dark with no food in the house and waits for his sister to find him.
Miss Darla Varney, an outskirts girl, can claim H-Ville residency just the same. She's not on the block as the rest, but her very best customers live on quiet cul-de-sacs.
I don't want to burst your bubble. I only want to stretch your membrane so you can see through it. We roll around inside the same box and still you get more likes/shares/subscribes. Your privilege is showing while my patience slips. I know. You were just born that way. And I have to paint my face just to enter the race. I pave over the ley lines that have brought me to this place. Your leg up is my stumbling block.
(A Love Story for the Ageless.)
I like having you around but I don't write on your skin anymore.
(Barrage!)
Grow your heart and make sure it keeps time.
(Garbage!)
Hey Curiosity…what does it feel like not to be in pain?
(Well, you either study problems or you solve them.)
You and your drive-by goodbyes.
(These words hurt you.)
We'll dive deep where the water is most foul.
(My one-person tribe has found its match.)
OK. Episode 1 of Hi-Phi Nation's second season is basically privileged folk with problems I'd love to have (Takeaway: Do not spend time and money on advanced degrees. Lots of learnin' to be found for free! Develop a skill first that can actually help you, your family, your community and someday beyond … ) But, this podcast is worth a listen, even though I still don't know the difference between being and doing. My interest is to unpack the reasons why we do the things we do. I like to track commonalities in the human condition, as well as explore experiences that affect certain segments of the population. Why? To gain insight into that most annoying titty twister: What is the meaning of life?
Pay your bills. Trust your intuition. Change your environment in the ways in which you are able if you don't like the scenery. Practice tzedakah. Study the reasons why we are sick. Knit mittens. Pet kittens. Know this to be true.
Goals are mileposts, and life is like the Shinkansen save for those cherry-picked moments of living in the present.
My work is dedicated to the fact that there is a big difference between being and doing when one suffers from Irritable Soul Syndrome.
1.) Doing keeps me out of my head.
2.) Being invites the demons inside my sanctuary, giving them free rein over my stash of Godiva hot cocoa mix and squishy, comfy bean bag chairs.
Therefore, I pick one over the other before the Deep Dark makes the choice for me.
We are all little bundles of nerve endings crafted from the detritus of Being & Doing.
Hi Ivan,
Did you give me a watch because you knew you didn't have much time left? A kind gesture made poignant because your time did run out. The story is a family member found you. I hope you passed in your sleep, free of fear and pain. Maybe you dreamt of setting environment variables. Maybe you dreamt of a Louisiana-style feast surrounded by loved ones. You're doing both those things (not necessarily at the same time) right now, wherever you are.
I can't recall exactly what our last interaction was, but I think it involved a bit of plaid, a fist bump, and a "Have a good day, Miss T." Your smile and positive attitude were much needed reality checks in the odd, sombre place you spent your final work days. And your sense of style! A sharp dressed man you were indeed. You are missed.
Be at peace, friend.
I'm surviving the first of many tests. Let's hope for a tête-à-tête soon.
Gary Quackenbusch gave up Yoo-hoos for a year, according to the fryline at Chik'n & Biskit. The fact that the fryline saw Gary saunter on up to their counter every day may have had more to do with the loss of Gary's hourglass figure than his fondness for chocolatey drinks. Who can say for certain? The truth comes in many sizes, and only one's own tummy knows the score. But enough of Gary Quackenbusch's dietary predilection.
A skinny girl with eyes like a Guernsey and a tangle of seaweed hair rang Gary's order up on more than one occasion. She was the reason behind his every decision.
You have stared into The Deep Dark for ten hard months. That tower of yours can't come crumbling down fast enough. You need to be knee-deep in debris right now. Think of the dust as humus for a healthy heart (yours, by the way, is a most striking shade of ebony.) Every tree you pass beneath knows your name. Every drop of rain contains your DNA. You love here, there, and everywhere. You live in a house that Thoughts built. You are a first edition locked away in my ivory library.
Soul formation begins with the weathering of desire.
The sky's the best thing about this place. Tiny tears in black satin cast clues inside closed eyelids via diamond dust and glue. Collect enough pinpricks, string them up two-by-two, and they'll lead me to this improbable hallway where I'll find you.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 