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.