Category: Quotidian

-As time dissipates and false idols fade, we are left with greater lucidity. We come to understand it is the stars and not the roof that had to burn away to reveal them that really matter. Along the trajectory of experience, of existence, many roofs will burn and just as many stars ignite. As these lights appear, they become our true North. They become the light by which life means; the light which spills frightening shadows and allowing the dying embers breath. It was a humble home. We had planned it as our starter, in what we hoped would be […]

– It was a Thursday. The clouds were scattered in the sky the way pillows remain. Stilled, after a night on the battlefield of slumber, after hours of twisting and turning in the dark of night. They greet the morning light in the same manner. Soft white mounds with expanses in between. There was a darkening in the sky, amidst the bright blue stretch beyond the white bulbous forms. The air was beginning to turn, the way it does after the last embers of the fire are suffocated and their absence becomes filled and swept from memory. The scent of […]

-How much of life is dream, how much of life is verifiable? If life is not what we remember but what we recreate…is there a single moment that can be held onto? Everything is fleeting in the moment it is lived…leaving nothing in the moment after when we attempt to recreate. Dust constantly swirling is all we are; what we live, the brief posturing of sand castles before the continued blowing of the wind.

For Shyla -Being a father is not a suit or a mask or a performance…it permeates each and every manifestation of self, it is intertwined and woven into the entirety of the concatenation of self, from the moment of a child’s birth…our current modes, society, communal cultures often break away from this truth, as father’s abandon their children…but it is an undeniable truth, as a father, you are changed, your child is an integral part of you, just as you are an integral part of your child…as a father, it is my privilege, and I embrace the responsibility, to strive […]

-Life is a life-long process; a series of decisions, choices, possibilities, lost and found strands of personal story in a chaotic complex system; governed by the conflict of reconciling subjective perspectives with the only tool we have-which often fails-language. It means what it means dependent on the philosophy/spirituality embraced, all of which remain ambiguously true to each subjective embrace. None of us exist together in the same world ever. Thus, everything means and does not-objectively, but never subjective. There is no figuring it out collectively, only individually and personally.

-The horizon tilts. The world becomes different. If only momentarily, the quotidian is allayed. There is a freedom in the gasp for breath. The not knowing; will everything turn out? It will all be all right. It always is. But, there is always the not knowing. This may be the moment it all turns. The trope which ends it all. Not a trope at all. It’s not. The horizon returns to its antithetical position. A straight line concealing a universe of possibility. Everything encompassed in the possibility of troping without a trope. That gasp, that breath, that not knowing. It […]

-It seems we’re there now. Never had a moment to think things through. In the lost breath shed between attempts at clarity, the cycle continued. Life. It is a wave that rolls and before you can regain your balance, it’s coming back your way. You roll with it, or almost float with it. A big gulp of salty suds. Perhaps better than tears. Grit your jaw and hoist your chin above to the sea salt air. The rocking ship will not abate. Would you want it to? Lost equilibrium is better than none at all. Who needs a touching down? […]

-The decentralizing force of socio economics. A pitfall. There are theories, beliefs, spiritual certainties-for some, stating that we are born connected, centrally and intrinsically bound to our humanity, to the state of our creation. This state becomes disrupted in our growing, our sprouting, our moving beyond gestation. This occurrence happens in nature all the time and thus we can compare the states of our beings to the change of a tree weighed down by the pull of gravity and the dearth of stone mitigating the fulfillment of its roots, leaving it to weaken its grasp on its dream and slanting […]

-I’m sick of metaphors, my own. The whole allegorical world in my head seems filled with technique and contrivance, an attempt at bridging the chasm between myself and others. In this effort I feel like Froggy waving frantically for Saturn’s attention, stripping down stark nude that he might be noticed by his creator, that he maybe validated-in some sense-for his humanity or simply as creation. Yet, even as I lay there, my skin turning a tomato red under the sun’s glare, the technique, the contrived language, crumbles under the glare of nothing more than that burning star which lights the […]

-In the dark as eyelids flicker, there’s a scent in the air. This scent is quite familiar, but it feels like a stranger. Disconcerting, it is, this scent. It is the scent of peace, and how troubling it is to contemplate here. There is no peace in the rage of the rhinoceros, there is no peace but only pieces as it unleashes itself in the city of crystal. And this, this is precisely what jitters; what breaks the steady resistance to loss of control; nerves and hands alike lose the accumulated strength and start tapping, even as the scent of […]