Post-liberty

After the pomp and circumstance we find ourselves on the long road. It is where I am now. It is where most of us are now. Do we ever give it the thought it deserves?

Every journey begins with a fanfare of some sort. Start of the engines, a wave goodbye. Something needed. Trouble. A massive explosion launches the space shuttle high into atmosphere, finally reaching that starry scape so high above. As it should be. We celebrate that lifting off from our small, little planet as monumental. Much like leaving the safety of our home, the opening of a window, the start of a trip. Does it bely the great distance that trail will hold us for?

Life begins with much exertion, but much later than that it begins again. Adolescence.

Millions of growing youth and all they want is freedom. The time has come to be who they think they are. They've been alive a maximum of 18 years, and time is strangely compounded during that time. Now they unleash themselves on a world. A slow moving world. A world with more time and consistency than they have ever thought possible.

A human will live a maximum of something near four times that little one-eight, leaving one simple question.

Have you ever thought about what you will do with all that time?

There is so very much.

Knowledge without perspective

At any given time I am in a number of classes. The class of light and shadow on the nearby ground, the class of tree limbs and falling leaves out front window, or the class of not getting hit when the gear won't shift on freeway (watch it, live, every morning between six and seven A.M); we are all aware: the schooling of life. Very few times do I ponder whether what I am observing is trying to fool me, that it has any ill intent. Leaves fall innocently. We make rules to understand, like gravity, around that fact. We observe and create our understanding. Facts present themselves and we explain them

But,

We live in a world filled with seemingly insurmountable amounts of facts. Understanding it all requires special tools: our own eyes and ears and noses and fingers and tongues are not enough. Now we have voices. We write, we record, we speak and it all flies onto the internet. Knowledge is handed out with only the effort of asking in one form or another. And, you know what? We see knowledge becomes subject to individual perspective as a thousand opinions all coalesce.

Soon, drugs are good and bad and irrelevant and important. Pornography is a natural and healthy pass-time and a destructive family-scourge. We should all be ourselves by conforming with whatever group makes us feel good. Wrong is right and right is wrong. Who is lying? With truths as distant as the internet how can we verify the honesty of anyone? We can't see the leaves falling anymore and we can't just look out the window.

We could try everything, but that something in between harming myself and buying an apple computer makes that sound like a bad idea.

No, there is a better way. We ask someone who knows. Someone who has our best interests at heart. The scourge of death and master orchestrator. The great overseer of life. GOD incorporated, whose son freed us and spirit guides us. Yes. He will know.

He will know
...
And, maybe then I will know whether I should buy 2% or whole.

Perceivings of our own selves

Being who we wish to be with the contrast of  who we want to be *around* is difficult. Finding who we are and then bringing that into the relationships in questions, letting people value you for who you are is truly wonderful. One of the many methods for determining ourselves, then, is not whether we fit in, but where we fit in and if we like it there.  Change occurs when we become aware of ourselves and our honest position in life and seek to improve it; to remove those things from it that we see as opposed to those things that frustrate our personal desires. Desires gained through much living and experiencing the pains and joys and noise and silence of life. The quantity of these experiences required before change, or the quality, is unique to the individual. Poignance is open to perspective. Life is full enough for all, however, and repentance is a process all must undertake. When and where are variables left to us and our God (Who is fully aware of our needs).
If we consider the difference between the changed (humbled, meek, gracious). And the unchanged, the experiences might be stark or non existent. War, pain, or even dismemberment are not determining factors for such wisdom. Experience is therefore no dictator of greatness. We are fully endowed with the ability to change who we are based on our circumstances and our understanding

Mrs. Carpenter

Within five blocks of the bakery sat an enchanted carpenter. The wood he worked was not magical, but the carpenter himself was. He was the topic of much conversation throughout the town, the bakery included. Customers came and went for their loaves of delicious bread, all with different stories. One or two or five were bound to bring up the magical carpenter.
            The subject of the magic is what held the town's interest. Unlike most spells that bring wealth or fame, riches or power, the carpenter's earned him a reputation in the wood world that equaled his unsurpassed skill. He, and in turn the wood he spent so much time with, smelled like sandals. Not used sandals. Just sandals. Some liked it, some did not. One in particular, however, a young lady of great liveliness and charm, had developed a great love of the scent.
            As she purchased more and more of his fine dressers and cabinets and other wood-works she had the opportunity to fall in a deep and respectful love with the carpenter and his enthralling scent. They were soon wed.
            The carpenter and the young maiden became a terrific duo. With her charm and his skill, his enchantment was soon associated with quality. It became desireable as his and her social standing launched with their success. They began a side business selling select quantities of perfume with their furniture.

They called it...

Sandalwood

If I hadn't

Is a useless statement. You did. Let's look at consequence not merely as a tool for correct choice, but as an actual surety of happenings. We still seem to think that there is some little loophole somewhere, some chance that things will miraculously change at the last minute--and they might--but such a chance is nothing worth gambling on. Go out and live with your best decisions. Make the choices that really matter. Be sure, and if something changes, be sure that it did. The variables are many, but unknown. Let them slip aside for a brief moment.

Fighting this battle

In the hustle of the job we simply don't see. In the pattern of the day we simply forget. But, in the stillness of the night we find ourselves able to further see those edges of our mind that lay forgotten. The front lines of our imagination. The place where all the honorable thoughts run into the dross head on. It is a battlefield of character, a force of self control. The world fights with an army of messages. Some good, some bad. Like Lehonti, curiosity can have a price. So, keep those defenses up. Armor those barricades. Equip those troops with the armor. The armor of god.

A day like any other

A day likes any other, it weaves and wiles it's way about. Sometimes it floods every moment in activity, others it stifles with the lack of activity. Sometimes we are meant a little extra space to make sense of it all. Something like a breath of fresh air can make all the difference. Sometimes we just need a moment that we are fully responsible for, free from other's touch. In my findings I feel responsible for those around me, or at least aware of them. With that awareness comes responsibility. It must, to an extent. This is from the eyes of an introvert who loves you all deeply enough to be his best, and his best needs space. Like a delicious bag of chips, savory in concentrated pieces. And closed and reopened the thousand times. There is meaning here, and just when you think you have it, leave and return to find something new and exciting. Responsibility aside, there is plenty of us to take care of for our own selves, but keeping that in mind with a room full of people can be a challenge.

Stuck in this Haze

A vivid imagination mixed with a pair of eyes and the world begins to have personality. A little self control: consistent stationary object behavior and explanations. People, though? People are not a consistent object. Their behavior is beyond our control (even for the most outgoing persuasives, you'll meet that one who crashes your twists). Simply best just to get over that fact. Or better, embrace it. Tomorrow is definitely yours to seize, but people's behavior (directly) is not. Not happily. Not with any grace.The difference between a centered,  polite suggestion and a manipulative demand is catastrophically great.

For a moment I imagine that we all have a hand in someone else's behavior. Our speech, our actions, our moods, even our thoughts, will affect those around us. But, when we attempt to engineer those things in others which are best left to sincere endorsement, appreciation, or earnest entreatings we spoil our good will and intent. We forget ourselves and delve into something not given, unable to be taken. We attempt to dominate. The insolent fool who tries this may have the best of intent or a noble aim,  but those things are lost in the act of trying to domineer a human soul. If such behavior becomes a habit, becomes accepted as a persons own lifestyle, then friends may seem few and far between. Life begins to be a vicarious haze as a person attempts to read and be another.

The stark realization that one must step back and with sincerity plead ones humanity and encourage ones cause with respect for the individual is a most humbling one. It is also a most necessary one.

To love that person that we are and give up the need to attempt control of others is key. To love another is to respect not only their individuality, but to encourage it for the better.

Leafing you

I remember. The smell was brisk and moist in the chill backyard. The daylight was fast maturing and the last rays formed the twilight. We all joyously ran about in those brief minutes of illumination. Hot humid home left behind and the smells of soup on the stove and bread baking held a promising future. The moment was granted a temporal security. Safely we knew our present. The chill now could be basked in with such bright warmth later. As the piles of wet leaves were flung at rosy cheeks and puffy coats, and yells carried from the game of tag just a short distance, the breath burned in your throat refreshing and the laughter sincerely flowed. Fall trees warmed in the golden rays too high above our heads, wet grass lapped against our shoes, and children hid and sought in the moist wooden structures. When the parents yelled the dinner done we would all be soaked and chilled and happy for a reprieve. But, until then, maple clung to us in our slipping about the grass. "You're it! You're it!"

There is a story

There is a story in those woods. No trifling thought or simple phrase. There is a story in them. The missing people have gone those ways. I never thought I'd watch them go with so much glee within my heart. They walked into the woods one day and left the world in their depart. I don't think they just disappeared. I don't think they are simply gone. Absent though their laughter is, that passage is not so very long. A question raised at fireside meal, a stray thought in the harvest fields. There is a story in distant wood. We'll question it until it yields. We'll poke and prod with travelers until they're lost from light of day. We'll never see those prods again, but we won't stop with time's decay.

Reverse the polarity

It is the intent that counts, they say. Not only the intent? If intent could communicate clearly than words would be redundant.
If I yelled "I'm going to reverse the polarity." The intent does not also say, "I think he is going to reverse the polarity." The intent says "He is going to do something that may help. Hold on." In this sense it distills hope. Someone may swear. Ill word for ill intent. Someone else may say something that holds no offense technically, but in the same explication. It is somehow less offensive. In this sense the first distills distaste or offense, the second, humor. From this we also garner that words must match intent in order to be fully effective. By forcefully mismatching words we create a strange hilarity in our swearing. We show a strange sense of self control. "There, that fellow has taken the time to rewrite his dictum!" It was not accidental, it was meant, and the choice can be humorous.
Accidental unintentional is often the source of much laughter. When a fellow attempts to murder you by hitting you with a bag of marshmallows (he thinks it is the key to draining your powers), we find hilarity. Mismatched intent. Intent vs. fact. Intent vs. ability. This same logic applies to gift giving.
"I want to give the greatest gift in the world!" exclaims the young man. He then goes out all starry eyed and purchases a lamp-shade he really thought was an abstract hat perfect for the intended recipient.

May our intent be intentional, our ability understood, our poise graceful in our acceptance of those with good intent.

Knees

Such silly things. If one were to think about life without them it might become unbending. It may seem too supple. It could be too painful. The grace of humankind would be undermined. The kneel would go out the window.

If standing is taking off the cap, then walking is very respectful. Sitting places it firmly on. Now we mean business. Now we mean to firmly place ourselves in the world un-moving. Oh that subtle art of sitting.

What of that directed fall? That occasional step? That fluid movement. What hinge places us at its mercy? Oh those lengthiest of hinges. The grand teeter-totter. The knee.

Remembering the time

We went outside. Warm breeze on a cold day. The strange impression moving makes you warmer. Many differences between a lady bug and a potato bug. Spots suit you.

High in the stadium they watch the dance floor. The show moves towards the interested parties and they gather in clumps. Osmosis cleans up the small groups like Walmart.

If there were a lamp that could fill the whole room with light would I still like the lamp, or do I need my shadows?

Choices in the computer world mean only two things: doing the same thing is a very picky process, and nobody really knows what they'll be doing. Do I mean that? Just a hypothesis.

Finicky about the smaller things. The larger things seem to require a bit more work. Work has a habit of making one less finicky?

Pork chops. Chop chop chop.

Icecream sandwiches on a hot beach. Drips of sugar-cream on a boardwalk. Warm Gyros. Aircraft carriers.

The smell of kell. Zipping about always for something, the zipping is the best part. The cool classroom.

Poetry on a stone bench. A giggling second voice.

That cross-fingered hand holding.

Late nights and nice poetry.

Riding that wave of emotion.

Here I am!

"Here I am!" Said Richard. "Here I am!"

It was the middle of a field, the kind that only exists in fairy tales or on the west coast of America. Grain, beach, ocean. Lovely mixture. Farming by the seaside. Fresh bread and fish. The lively art of living was never more fresh than the rich fields above and beneath in quiet symphony.

Here I am. Here I am. Richard sat with the tang of italian oils and vinegar resting upon his lips. Fresh baguettes. The waves crashed against the seaside villa. His small hovel overlooked the swaying seaside and the swaying harvest on a slight rise between the two. The wind swept the field toward him and met with the rush of the waves to form an updraft the seagulls all knew quite well. They circled above, begging for  a crumb from the beard of Richard.

All was present, sure, and there. Richard sat. His lips trembled. He was happy.

Marguerite sipped a drink from beside him. Tomato juice. In the cup it sloshed pleasantly as she watched the contented man. She knew what would complete this day and she huddled beside him. In a flurry of movement her wrist propelled her finger forwards and into his abdomen. He burst into a thousand laughing pieces. IT would take her hours to put him back together again, but it was so worth it. She was glad that he was there. He was there for good. There with her, not just anywhere, and quite anywhere would be there if they were both within it.

This is the one

This is the one, he thought. The dank vial murked in his hand. It obstructed the clarity of the glass. It devoured the passing light. There was a deeper desire to place it in the hands of someone else, but one needed such charms to pass the shouting sea. Filled with styx, that horrible sound, it could dissuade any percieved auditory noise. It screamed loudly enough to shatter glass and rend the sky like lightning. Luckily, the bottle was crafted from plastic.

He turned and strode out of the cave and into the daylight. Below him the valley spread. A flower of fields, it stretched in green and brown and golden petals. The center bobbed a city. The steep cliff face gave a spectacular view of it all, but demanded a rope to avoid ill side effects (such as death). He reached out for the one still dangling from his descent. The length would allow him passage all the way to the camp below, but was unclimbable. Now he could glide to the bottom with ease. He did.

Mountain drifted by as he fell like a darkly angel on a string, landing neatly in front of a super market designed by climbers. He swiftly tugged the rope in a predesigned pattern and it dismounted the distant rock and fell neatly spun beside him. Hoisting it under one arm a receipt was divulged and he marched back into the super market to make a return. Someone seriously needed to rethink their business plan.

Dry feast

The feast was dry and barren. The table held a bounty of savory foods, but no drink. One could scarcely take a bite before it came to thirsting. Those that ate the meal were left desolate. What they took meant nothing. It was entirely useless without its counterpart.

Off in the far corner of the same staggering complex was laid a fountain of pure spring water. Life. If only they could reach it, but fearing they would lose their rich food should they leave it--or perhaps simply desiring it presently instead of seeking it later--the dinner guests would scarce seek it out. In fact, they barely took in the splendors all around them for their single mindedness, and the host, though having left explicit instructions, would return to find many of them near death.

Eldredge Rotchit was not one of them. Born a hotdog salesman, he knew the value of a good beverage. And, that is why he, on a wondrous and perilous journey, drank from that fountain and gloriously returned, moisturized and dripping. Ready to partake of that deep fried non-fat high-sodium chicken.

Uplifted

Trees swayed in the afternoon breeze now and again, but would not whisper. The daylight streamed between the cracks in the nearby fence and the grass slurped it up sappily. Famous treats pushed into crevices and hung from branches in bright neon ovals. The search began.
Adults scampered about as giddy as children and filled their baskets with rewards. So eager to find their sugar packed tasties. Eagerly we search for those little things that make life so sweet.

Dramatically dermatic

They say that the human smile can make a face look younger. This indicates, perhaps, that youth is not the secret to happiness, but happiness is the secret of youth. What, then, makes you happy? There are many branches in that answer, but the root remains the same. People are integral. How we approach those people is entirely personal however.

Some of us are writers. Some of us are actors. Some of us are mechanics (I'm thinking of you AAA men!), comedians, flourists, and zookeepers. Some of us build ipads and some of us program games. Some of us sing. Some of us etcetera.
As for me
I believe in fiction, in expression, in that strange new genre that is becoming so grand and beautiful that I would affectionately speak of it as my major beside english.

Interactive story telling.

Now i just hope those harlequin authors dont runaway with it.

We could...

We could go up your drive way and across your walk way,

we could follow you perfectly in the hopes we wont lose you,

and we could pitch our modern tents in the farthest corners of the himalayas,

but what we are really going to do is walk across the lawn,

cut you off at the pass,

and camp in our backyards. Because, really, whose going to enjoy this? Me or you?

No, really. Did you try and trap your lawn for bears or something? 

...

Oh.

Goodnight

Hey, don't let it get to you. the moon is a passing thing. It frets about on stage for a few hours and then it is gone. After it disappears? Well it is just the evening. The dark will give you time to think. Again no biggy. Just go with it.

OH. Just don't use that blanket. It's some strange mixture of rayon. Just stay away from that. Yeah. Only thing you need to worry about.

Farewell to glow

After that moment they found themselves a little darker. A little later. The flowers a little less bright. Never did their minds wander over what they had just seen, they merely walked beyond the flooded room and into the twilight of a once bright day. And now, horses were just horses, people just people, and all their grandeur an indecent lie. 

They seriously contemplated whether they would ever smile again.

but,

Unbeknownst to them a little glimmer still shined in that well. It flitted through waves and ripples and scattered light against the damp ceiling. In the morning it would burn a hole in the roof and feed the sunlight with its brave elixir. The world would glow once more.

Motif 2

Hey, I know how to eat barbequed chicken. Dont get me wrong. I just think it isnt the best thing for my wasteline, Seriously. If I get below 300 the coach will take me off the line.

Wait, is that a hippo?

Motif

The only problem is this: When we find the hippopotomus how will we get him to the pool party? I mean, did anyone actually think about it?

Elizabeth

Mary says there is no God. She tells me that if there were he wouldn't let people eat bad food. You know. Twinkies? I think that is what she means. I tell her she needs to be happy that she has anything. Mom says that's grateful. I'm grateful for Twinkies. Think they taste good. I pray and tell God I am. And I think maybe everything is that way. Someone loves it, even if I don't. I'll ask the doctor if anyone is happy to be sick when I see him tomorrow. It is a big day!

Tomorrow I get to see the gumball machine outside his office, the one that moves like a circus. Up and down and inside gears and pulleys and into my mouth! Mmm! SO GOOD! I'm chewing it now.

When I think about it the doctor likes injuries cuz' he gets paid. He's nice, so I'm glad people get hurt. I'll tell him that too. I'll tell Mary. Somebody loves everything. Nobody loves nothing.

So many ways to say that. In the end, won't we all be grateful for it all?

Figment

We are allowed to see what we want. I am a big advocate of will. If I will it into the existence I perceive that it may be real, but reality is often more than you or I. Reality is universal. Reality is truth. Is it no wonder that most people see only half of reality in this day and age? Between our personal ideas and those deceitful lies spread by the rest of humanity and their preconceived notions it can be difficult to see what really applies, what really affects, what really equates. It isn't open for major consensus or understanding. Reality is what dictates, we do not dictate reality. Our affirmation and general consensus creates a unity of understanding. With that unity we can overcome small thinking and actually explore. Push and pull and examine reality until we intimately can exclaim that it is full and fair. There are rules for happiness. Real happiness. Happiness that still stands after the voice of our opinion dies out and our constant challenging of understanding melts into a dreary slumber. If, for five minutes after you awake, you can simply grasp that new morning feeling before you drag the rest of your circumstance into it then we can all exclaim together that life is delightful.

Filament

That little stick of a metal is bright with the polish of a current. Who would have thought it could shine so brightly? Dance for me little light. Sing a song for me.
You can't?

You can't do anything except shine.

What if I fell down and broke my sacrum? What if I drown in the wading pool while diving filling out underwater tax forms (three feet or less of water pressure)?

You can't help.

You are the most useless light I have ever had.

Ever after he yon only invested in Lamps.

Cory: Origins, part 1

Epilogue: The light did not fail in every way. Later, under that same light, a lost pencil was found. Whoa, even that same shining did cause a thief to change his malicious plans under the thought that occupants may be home. On top of it all the light was used to investigate the perils of the universe one sleepy night while the rooms occupants stared, mesmerized, into it. 

Splendor in the grass

If I had cried over a twenty dollar bill, a car, a morning, a day wasted, then one would think I complained. But, is their anything for which I should be mourning? What is worth our weeping, worth our time? What governs sadness? What beautiful moment missed should ever be mourned?

They live. I live. Life is ceaseless, the possibilities endless. I grasp my eternal hand with yours and into that something we continue, never leaving behind those cherished, but letting them follow us in wonder at our ability to progress. This ceaseless trade of thoughts and times presses on, and together we follow--caught in the wave.

Conspiracies of the third kind

Bill was not the sort of fellow who drank tea. He found it stuffy and bland. He now meticulously read the back of a small box of peppermint with a rapt expression. Passing housewives made nervous glances at the portly man blocking the small convenience store isle. They might approach to request he move, but found themselves disarmed before his fierce expression. This was the stuff of the wise and the rich. He reread the ingredients list for the 43^rd time. Peppermint leaf. Of course, he knew the box was lying. What of the string and little tags and those strange clothlike bags?

In a sudden motion he placed the box neatly back on the shelf with an excellent precision causing a nearby shopper to jump and a young lady to gasp. He, suddenly aware, gave sympathetic looks to both. “May wish to watch those nerves!” he woofed with a huff as he suddenly began his journey to the front of the store.

“I recommend the peppermint.”

He left the store empty hand. This was acceptable. There was a Wal-mart just down the street. They had better be more honest. They had better mention the packaging, or, come heaven or hell, someone may end up choking on it.

Guessing my name

Enter the world of guessing and you lose logic. Comforting, but it only sways in the feeler's favor for so long before it becomes "stupid" in every sense of the word. Stupid to feeling as well. I feel as though I shouldn't be doing this. Now you are defying two spectrums of execution. Stop now while you're a head! (Not a torso, mind you).

Let's take a look at the contrarian. He states the opposite. Befuddles merely because he can. Makes life a guessing game, mostly for himself. When will he succeed in retention of dramatic will. Will that, in the face of fiery acceptance and ruffled complacency, languidly lets his hair blow in golden locks as his white shirt billows and his arm rests on the comfortable hilt of the lazy-boy sword. Dramatic. Comfortable. Confident. He smells like oldspice.

Guessing is near to fear. It is the unknown and the lack of knowledge, for surely with knowledge you would not be wasting your time on that slot machine or in that geometry class. To algebra, then! Flee until the time is right, the knowledge matches the feeling, the daylight holds no surprises, only wonders you have yet to behold. And tomorrow... don't even get me started on tomorrow.

Felicity

There is a quality I have noticed in select few to create circumstance in the world around them. There is a certain joy to be had in their company. Vibrant and full of life, stagnation flees from their presence. Busy in a minute way, one that seems calm and relaxed-and, in fact, is-but flows freely with creative and uplifting thought. It seeks not to be fed, to devour, to absorb, but to fill and expand and enrich all around it.

It may not have been consistent at first, this quality. It wasn't. It can seem tiring and challenging, but we all have the opportunity to let it build within us, and then seep forth. The well goes dry for a short while in the beginning, but as we develop this most felicitous part of us we can maintain it for all the waking hours and glory in less strenuous ventures, less external, in the evening.

Whether it be quiet, or loud, these few heartfelt creators of moments and days may live and walk on. Breathe on. Quietly smile on.

Remembering the time

The time has come and gone and look at me, I have forgotten time. Then, I have forgotten to remember that I forgot the time. I have forgotten to remember that I need to remember that I need to know the time. There is no escape. I am trapped in a catch 22. Even if I remember what I forgot, that memory only tells me that I forgot something else. There is only one solution.

The metaphysical drill. That's right! I have a method of worming my way through the moment and into a sort of metasphere where I can concieve time as it is happening and analyze it's absence from my life.

The only problem is that when I finally finish this tricky business it is already later in the day. I've forgotten why I went in there. Oh well. At least there is tomato soup.

Inlet

I've read the stories, the ones where the only way to live is to eat the fish. And, the only way to eat the fish is to trap them. You place the most desirable substance in the world as bait--themselves--and when they swim in through the grating to seek the untakeable they simply cannot find their way out. Then we can eat them. Feasting on ignorance has never satisfied so fully, I think. But, it is okay because the fish were meant to be eaten. In their short aquatic lives they will never find a purpose more wonderful or fulfilling. They are the hunger we can satisfy while cherishing their ignorance as a timely benefit. All of this is true because fish cannot speak, just make kissy faces, which means they love you.

The other day I sat beside the warm tree and I saw an ad. It proposed I could be a mother and still make eight hundred dollars a day from home. HOME. The bullet nearly hit. Luckily i've never found myself very maternal. The bait was incomplete. It wasnt me. It was someone else that would come to acquire it and then, when they found the baffeling ignorance stifling, and could nearly outgrow it, the ugly truth remains. Most of them don't even make kissy faces.

When I think of those poor mothers I cannot shake the feeling they don't deserve that fate. None of us do. Not the postman who has to deliver the package or the blue collar worker that wanted to send it. Watch out for the traps whoever you may be. They are everywhere.