Semi-Daily Scribbles

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?

Love is Rough

I informed Elinore that I trusted my gut more than some expert's opinion on how best to sell myself to the Cogs of Industry. She didn't believe me. All is right in the world if we choose to listen to the mysteries in the wind that sigh and cry. Soughing and cooing from on high to get us to heed the knowing in our hearts. I persist because progression is in my bones. Maybe I'm a throwback, but I keep comin' back. I only know how to dog paddle, but the inelegant splashing gets me from one end of The Universe to the other. Success is spotting a mess and then coming up with an exit plan. I do not want to be The Petrified Man to stand sentinel over complacency for all eternity. Struggle is what gets you a first class ticket to the stars. You need to look up to see where you've been.

Ah, Elinore. You peaked at 19, but you're still my queen. There was always a smack of schmaltz about you. And that's why I love you. Love is lovely and it made you lose your edge. Standing out on that ledge, what thoughts have now replaced the darkness? The dream is now rinse and repeat. It's difficult to call the attainment of respectability a defeat. But where is the hunger? The longing. The yearning. Has it all been replaced by a sizable yearly earning? You will always be a bit of rough sport to me, bon ami.

The Wait is Over

Hi Richard,

I can't remember the last time we spoke. I think it was before the move to Alpha Rd. We didn't have a lot of interaction as teammates since we had different schedules, and then later on you worked remotely, but I'm happy our respective reality bubbles collided, if only for a short time. I'm sorry I didn't congratulate you and your fiancée on your recent nuptials. I hope your Big Day was fun-filled and included all the people you loved. Other than missing the chance to pass along warm wedding wishes, I didn't really have a whole lot to say to you in recent months other than nudges via group chats that I was sending an incident ticket your way. Ack. But I did cry when Steve told me you had died.

I'm not sure everyone on our team knew you. Your passing wasn't commented on by very many of us. That bothered me, so I shared with a few people the first time we met. I think you thought I was someone else. No introductions, you just launched into a story that, quite frankly, I had a hard time following. Something about an ex-wife, perhaps? I nodded and smiled and thought: "Now here's an interesting fellow..."

Your journey this time around was short, as you endured pain and waiting and rounds of treatment that offered brief relief until the cycle began all over again. You also had a droll sense of humor and a flair for the random. Like picking up where you left off in the telling of a story. It didn't matter if I caught the second act of an ongoing saga. Some lucky person heard the first few chapters, while the conclusion of your tale is forever held in the hearts of your inner circle. I'm glad I got the opportunity to meet you, as well as having worked with our colleague, Ivan. I will keep you both in my memories as I move through this adventure, ever learning and always looking out for fellow travellers.

No worries. The fight is over. You are at peace.

Potion Control

Gwendolyne & Delphine Thickepenny are sisters with whom one ought not to trifle. The ability to wake up on the right side of dirt depends on the respect one gives to a Thickepenny's patience. Before this voyage may be undertaken, a lesson best learned is that well-crafted spells are worth more than a king's ransom on any near and faraway shore.

Three drops of blood are required to chase away The Sleep that plagues the ever vigilant seeker.
Collect the letters, then say the word (a concept most foul to a warrior).

G & D T. know dedication to the secret ways will bring rewards in the unexpected moment you've been waiting for.

This Ridiculous Riff

So many seeds have been cast near and far. The time has come for verdant dreams to bring a deep sense of the tangible. Spirit guides have been along for the ride, but now they must rest their weary dogs and let Tansy transcribe this mystical roadmap. Monuments to mindlessness populate the barren terrain; dust has a place on her palette. Tansy plays a plaintive chord of would-be's / ought-nots / evermore to navigate by an unreachable shore. Cutting corners only leaves holes in Tansy's story that cannot be filled with truth or lies. A gaping wound at the center of the Universe, oblivion is comfortable if one sets down ground rules and checks all measurements. As with blood, Tansy tends to stick to her own type.

I can't vouch for anyone but myself. Survival is Reinvention. Reinvention is Survival. I no longer need to pretend this experience means more than simply showing me the door.