Semi-Daily Scribbles

slipshod

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Endless Probabilities

Our Bodies in Reverse

Selective memory has atrophied the ability to see situations clearly.
But do we not do the things one ought to do?
Like?
Like paying bills.
Playing it safe.
The What-If Game takes up more and more of our time as we find ourselves stuck in a groove from decades ago just like the old timers we once despised.
The mirror is not going to become kinder as we try to pass by without stopping to stare, so best to call that reflection what it really is.
The version of you that was never supposed to come true.
Is she still in there? The girl who'd eat the world for breakfast and serve it up as something transcendent for tea.

Allow the Impossible to Happen

Hey '23! Embrace the new role of Chief Intuitioner. Set the intention to create, not ruminate. Read more, scroll less. Doom is in the eye of the idle. Don't expect the goal line to move toward you. A wish that leaves no heartbeat quickened is bound to become another daydream that'll lead you further from your purpose. Learn to recognize the reflection that shimmers on the surface of memory. Is it an image you'd want others to see when engaged in reverie? We sometimes need a reprieve from ourselves. The power inside you, once wielded with carelessness, must now radiate for those whom you do not know. More magic, less trash must be left in one's wake. Surrender to the silence that tried for years to grab your attention. You always did have a way of giving a good thing a swift kick in the teeth. Here's to another year to learn the lessons you no longer can ignore.

The Sweetness of Life

The revolving door of reality will open out upon a memory where you and I are sitting side by side, beneath a quilt, breathing in each other's scent. This is how you will forever be.

A Unifiable Theme

To make something beautiful is a lifelong pursuit.
Keep edges rough.
Lines are suggestions on where they should be crossed.
This is a love letter to your unfettered spirit.

It is the rough edge of one's work that establishes merit.
Beginning. Middle. End.
The order in which the dream is conveyed is inconsequential.

Mastery is misleading. Know when to write the final sentence and then walk away.
One's engagement with your creation is not the reason why you got into this game.
You've dictated the rules. Now go help someone else find her through line.

Challenge everything that makes you feel in control.
To understand one's desire is a trial of the soul.

The Big Kerplop

A blessing in the skies looks different to each of us. This morning as I looked up in the 6:45 a.m. heavens, scattered with puffed and wispy salmon-tinted clouds, I saw my beloved schnauzers Jethro and Bruno scamper about on a biscuit-shaped cumulus congestus that rolled past my house. That's when it occurred to me, I'm here to observe, lend a hand when I can to a fellow traveler, and clean up after myself. Simple; certainly not sexy, and harder a task than one would think. And so what if your superpower is the ability to never fit in? To never get out of your mouth words that describe how you really feel; what you see all around you; the messages you hear when someone engages you in "casual conversation." Have a nice day! is loaded with incredibly high expectations, and the ability to maintain oneself in an upright position becomes Challenge #1 on a daily basis. You think you know a person, but how would your life change if you could literally get inside their head?

The Limitations of Expertise

Who's story am I allowed to tell? Can I hand over free rein to my imagination so it can wander unchecked as it dictates the rules of an existence lived outside of my skin? The safe play is to write what I know; access to opportunities and the freedom to consider more than one path in life. Does my background translate into an echo chamber, or an offensive display of privilege? Either way, not much of a page turner and closer to a head-scratcher.

What’s it like to be human? I think I can speak to that experience with some level of expertise, but what’ll it take for me to offer a more inclusive narrative of who we are as a species? Here today and destined to become a memory, if we’re lucky. Stardust, at the very least.

Embracing Oblivion

Disarm me with your charms, but know that your personality is problematic.
(Yeah - don't know which one of us is the addict.)
But here we are in the woods, a stare-down in progress.
Each one of us casts a light of varying intensity, all in the service of demanding transparency.
Disrupting the other in an unfolding tale of what's to be discovered by lifting the veil.
There is no way to turn this progression on its head.
Grow in the only way you know, and your soul will fill-in the holes.
(This is actually factual: words are coming out of my mouth.)
When is one's story ever truly told?
Variations on a dream.
Start.
Stop.
Change direction.
Forget why you chose this destination.
Destiny never intended for you and me to come to rest beneath this hallowed tree.

Too Much and Not Enough

I should hope one would think he or she is interesting. If a person doesn't have that sort of opinion of oneself, all sorts of unfortunate occurrences can happen, like hearing a nonstop self-censure loop booming inside an already thought-heavy head. Oh, and if a person does find him/herself pleasant company to be around, that happily self-actualized individual should not foist any such presumption of that dearly held belief upon family and friends.
---You just groove inside your Private Opinion Bubble, buddy!---
Any such foisting of one's actually REAL self only muddies the sensitive depths of YOU and makes a gal or guy look like an imbecilic navel-gazer.
... and who wants to be perceived in that way?