An old poem I found

While summer cleaning today, I found an old folder full of things from my senior year of college and beyond...the original drawings for my tattoos, a few drawings of my ex-fiance (and that is an ugly kind of ex to have, regardless of how well it ended), a concept for a print I was going to make, and in the middle of all that, a random poem that I am not sure whether I like or not, but find somewhat amusing, regardless:

We speak no more on
Tongues that dance and deliver
swift, stunning kicks
with the base
of their soles
DO NOT DISTURB
is the war cry of our generation
Rest in Piece
one whole one
The rain is God's giant
morse-code
Message too grand
for us to ever unravel
pied pie pie π
The key to open the door
can also kill you
Kiss you
insult another
That one word will suffice
to carry our culture
through to infinity

And then what next?

This is what happens when you feed your head static: you slow down, not time. You think less, then want to think less. You may even completely withdrawal from society, or identifying with it. Or that may or may not have been just part of your personality in the beginning.

This is what happens when you analyze too deeply, with no safety rope tied around your waist (perhaps it is just tied around your neck): if you are in a positive frame of mind, you are enlightened. If you are in a negative frame of mind, regardless of source, you are completely mind-fucked, and want to feed your head static instead of thoughts.

Let us say, somewhat arrogantly, that you can understand multiple facets to a situation or an idea, understand different sides to the same story, understand enough that by this point you cannot tell what is "right" and what is "wrong," or at least, where you stand on a given situation because it makes sense whichever way you look at it, whether it be a million different perspectives, or two contrary ones.

And then one wonders what happened to that point in time where they were looking at everything in a positive light, or at least a light of peaceful amusement.

Ah, but if you were never down, how could you appreciate the times when you are up?

To instigate that turn in the cycle is my key obstacle. And if I do not love myself at this point, I do love a good challenge.

6am baking of a peach pie, late night chicken and dumplings, coffee with a hint of molasses, and I'm good to go again.

On Direction

I wonder what purpose my life would be drawn to should I lose or lose use of both my hands, darling little things they are.

So is the question not to clarify purpose, but find the essence of that purpose.

Mixed Bag Lesson

That which I cannot change, teach me to love.

That which I cannot stand, may I be able to change.

Of neither, may I be able to walk away from without remorse.

Library break.

It was getting hot for a moment there, and though I watched people bask in the sun it only brought a shudder down my back. Driest since 70-something, said a newsreporter, but it's winter, goddammit, I just want some fucking rain, some cold—it doesn't snow in the Bay Area, is that too much to fucking ask for?

We are lucky to have the ocean and the bay.

Yesterday clouds drifted over and in, like cotton combed over our heads, and though there are no sheets of rain to tuck me in to sleep, I saw earthworms this morning. I haven't seen earthworms since returning to California, most of it to do with living in the city completely last year through the rainy season, and here they are to herald what I can only hope is an oncoming deluge of water.

Working in this library is nothing but a dust bath, bad for the lungs. I see the last thirty years of the life of this organization tumble into my lap, faces of familiar staff long departed (and some still here) staring up at me; I even see my own squashy childhood face flash forward in the shuffle of photos.

So this is truly history, something inescapable. One may stand alone but we are all in it together, and in a few blinks you see what footprints you left behind. Or, if you a clever little thing, those footprints you have swept up as you passed by.

I Held Hard

My head is killing me, and I've been feeling nauseous all day. It seems I am imbalanced, which is natural. But, how does responsibility of life and society never seem to move in the same direction as emotional responsibility?

Being in love many times over, if it's the same tune, I still don't know the finale. I never get that part of the song right...

Story of your my life

You may know everything and still not understand anything.