Linked

Cheery little us, we stand together, bound like a mast in rigging. Circuited amiably with electricity, which we then use to circuit amiably. "On the grid" as they say.

We learn in a grandiose fashion, knowledge displayed up however we like. Images whisked from their storage states away, and vividly brought before our meandering eyes, sometimes given less than a thought.

When we are barraged we are barraged together. "Did you see that one commercial...?"

We all did.

It was targeted at us.

We are a demographic.

But, when something profound is said it bounces around. Happy, euphoric, little jumps to me and you and maybe me again. Until it is so thoroughly quoted it becomes a part of our religion. The religion of discerned wisdom.

Someone will give it a second thought, reword it, and send it out again.

We can chew on the same piece of inspiration endlessly. Limitless teriyaki jerky.

Who doesn't want that?

Look at us, all linked together in ways we never thought we could be. The lowest get raised up, and the raised seem dragged down.

But at the end of the day, the human mess, the American state, is we.

Killing is bad, cheating hurts, love is all we want, and money would be nice. That recipe looks good, this cat video is funny, and the song was catchy.

So thanks for that, us. See you all tomorrow.

The walk

Are you ever more consistent than the world around you? Are you ever more regular than the river, constant than the cars that travel down the boulevard?

A westbound sun places my shadow in trailer parks, The Paul Ream, and Jones Paint and Glass. Sees my footprint cross the river bridge, the school yard, and Burrelle's.

The children leaving Independence, heads bowed with homeward-bound homework-thoughts.

And then the sun and sky and traffic loses me somewhere on 800 North. Slipping into a shadow, with a beep and a deep breath.

Every week, and every working day.

You could say I walk the walk. I fail to speak.

And, here I am still walking. Here I am still trudging up that remote road, and I outlive the river, dying of thirst.

The bridge deviates into gang signs before I stumble off my path.

The year ends and begins for institutionalized education, but I am still here, walking.

When will the world and I collide?

When will someone tell me to get off the path, take a different route, threaten me with alterior motivations?  Altered me or else?

It will it be at night, when my heels mark the passing of eight hours. When all but ill intent sleeps on soft beds with worried heads.

That's when I'll grace the road with streetlights, welcome their orange awareness, and leave the shade to the shadows.

Focus Group

When I think of an experiment there must always be a division in results, for contrast. "You get the real deal. You get a placebo"

You get the experimental new cancer meds. You get sugar pills.

You get to live in a house with the new carpet. You only think you do.

You both get something.

That's what we take.

Everyone is a winner.

"That's unlike life, though, sir. In life the winner is rewarded, and the vanquished are not."

I'll have you know that the candy may be won by the focus group, but the control group does something odd. Something when you tell them they are the control group.

"You're not getting it"

You're just going to watch as someone else does.

You get to desire.

A desire for that candy is born.

A motivation to DO something and acquire it.

And, That is their reward.

Both get something. But, who was really the control group?

A Long While Since Yesterday

At work, by the time the shift is over, it is very late. So late that it is early. I'll leave and the chill and the dark will set in. After a long day is abruptly over there is silence.

Workers leave with the occasional "see you tonight." See you tonight. And, it starts to feel like a long while since yesterday, but its only been forty-minutes.

We work into tomorrow, and then we still don't stop. Words climb over into the next chapter. My life becomes one long page of text. From Monday to Saturday,

No breaks, no stops.

Living in a dream

We use the phrase "living in a dream" inclusively. We slap it onto those who don't own their reality. They take their thoughts and look at them, instead of the road they're driving on. Living in a dream

I with wonder think we have all missed a valuable use of this sentiment. A man goes to work, and just work, because he lives in his dreams. A woman buys makeup instead of food while living in a dream. A person places all his intents on a new car-toy-place-thing when living in a dream

Wherever the desires of our heart are there is our mind also.

And there is so much we are missing in our daily pursuits.

Let's look at the big picture for a moment or a while. Zoom out. See your doings and desires on a schematic. Ask ourselves: is this one of those little things that matters?

What if we want to adopt the view that can see us and ourselves in context. Which desire is big enough to let us see things as they really are? Give us a backdrop for our wants and desires?

What dream is the big dream?

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce love? Or, did you already know?

When our desire is your desire we can see our desire in the proper light.

Then we can look at our desire through the lens of you seeing it as your desire, and love ourselves as we love you, or love you as we love ourselves.

There are five different things

You should know about me. I am, at heart, a racer. I like the competition. The kind that can only foster greatness and warmth. I like to be pushed back. I like the force when two bodies, equally matched, collide. It's how I scale mountains. Ascend if you dare.
I change the world. Not like Bill Gates or Steve Jobs. They took the hard way. I thrive on the first impression and build every relationship like a story. If every smile is well placed we ricochet ripples across the globe.
Things orbit my large head until they inevitably careen into it. We are, perhaps, as "smart" as we think we are, but that says nothing for intelligence. Any one of us can create a well of gravity at any moment, deeper and deeper until everyone is clamouring to get out of it, or go crashing into it, and that really hurts.
Reaching out and touching someone is as momentous as any Michelangelo. A brief contact can change lives. A flood of contact can smother them. We can be a torrent or a trickle, warm or cold. I have met warm showers and cold droplets.
There is much to be said for silence, there are piles of books on noise. But, which one lets you enjoy a field of flowers or a good-nights rest? I live in the city behind thick walls. I like to know the noise is there, just outside my little corner. I have been known to soothe to the sound of a passing train.
Five things that you should know about me, over here in the city with a beautiful lady, stars that rest on the couch, and a picnic on every tote.

It freezes down

I feel bad for the cold. So self destructive, it creeps in when no one is looking. It finds the spots and builds into a nice, high, high pressure. Then, in the midst of victory and a frozen planet, a giant cosmic ball of hydrogen fusions all over it. And... that sucks.

Excuse me while I lament on the beach with a nice chilled drink.