Posted on 8 October 2015 | No responses

It’s these quiet days that compress the soul and heavy the mind. It’s scary – like a detachment – as a humble, lonely observer. A bus horn blows, birds chirp, ducks quack, tires spin, wind muffles the distant chatter. A hispanic man with a blank ball cap naps in front of me – he’s curled up with some of his possessions in small black plastic bags. A dog shat – twice – each time in a different spot. I know the owner picked up the first, I want to say the second, but not positive. I got distracted thinking about people resting on grass where a dog once shat. What I presume is a homeless man sat not too far from the second area, propping next to him his “Wilson” – a rather dirty, orange, furry stuffed animal. Before that, a quirky individual, having quite possibly a mental “disorder” snuck a piss in the bush palms – his headphones hanging around his neck. I guess that’s how he prefers to listen from them on this sunny day in this sometimes shady park. He assumed what I figured might be the stance and the stream between his legs confirmed my intuition. I don’t think he was aware that I caught him not being very discreet at all – then again, it’s my guess he couldn’t care less. I don’t judge any of this though. It’s all just a clock that circles. Sometimes I’m the hour hand, sometimes the minute hand, other times I’m in the white space; most of the time, I’m just a number. All of the time however, in it one way or another – whether I or we all never realize it. A baby cries, sirens echo, text messages dry up, a man wears plaid shorts, high white socks with loafers and closes his trunk. People just come and go. I sit here. I’m stuck. Waiting for something to happen. This is usually when I’m impulsively responsible for something unfortunate happening to myself. I feel stomach sick and often lonely. Deep breath. A Mexican nanny pulls two white kids, a boy and a girl, in a red wagon, and speaks to them in spanish monotone. Everyone’s busy because they have to be here – we were raised and conditioned that way; otherwise we’d go crazy. Tell me about it. I saw somewhere it takes 365 days to cleanse the entire body or for it to restore itself; also apparently 21 days to “rewire” the brain positively by grateful thoughts each day. Those themselves are exciting thoughts. An attractive 20-something year old walks by on the sidewalk across the street – she’s walking and texting at the same time. I get distracted because that’s biological programming and oddly unavoidable. I sit with my legs straight out but crossed and my boxers uncomfortably cinch my nuts. Again, stuck. I will have to adjust, no one reason other than I’ve had enough of it, all the while before a man drives off with his elderly mom that he walked hand-in-hand, and separately before a foreign couple pays the meter before their toddler toddles off. The lady puts her Starbucks down on the ground to do it, then I drift in thought – I remember I’d like to invest in these self-balancing wheel-boards, but don’t think there’s one single company patent. I’m bored and need a fix and that’s my problem.


Posted on 24 September 2015 | No responses

Yesterday was another binge – a mind numb stall of time to temporarily subdue the anxiety of uncertainty, especially while floating on others’ clocks without pay. Not to mention, personalities.

The roommate shows signs of excitement to vacate at the end of the month – or as I say, leave me in the dust. Be careful believing what you hear, especially if it’s with drinks on a roof in the distant past. When the going gets tough, the self comes out, often does the selfish. There were times when I wished for more, yet still supported, encouraged and brainstormed. What does having one’s back really mean anymore? Does it really have to come down only on the terrors of a loyal battlefield?

Some says it’s for the best. The optimist. The glass half full. As much as I’m pushed, I still lean this way but can’t objectively ignore … it still just IS.

The pain and confusion brought upon by women remains, perhaps bastes. Yet the desire intensifies. Although there is potentially so much danger, the beast is ultimately untamed, and the primal and biological urge intensifies, especially with growing days. The physical craves while the mental checks, processes, questions, protects, pretends, even likes-to-believe, but resiliently tries – almost as if programmed to suffer. Adrenaline is good, but it can be argued that love is  perhaps the best drug.

What do I want? … Is now different than what I wanted. In other words, through living, experiencing, I’ve seen that nothing is as ever good or as bad as it first seems, that a dream is ultimately that – a fantasy, that nothing in life is pure ectascy or pure misery. That it’s a search of balance – and if you can play your cards to tilt a little more up than down – more power to you.

So what is it that I want? What are my goals? My priorities? Perhaps I don’t know; perhaps I never knew and never will. And that’s okay. Why is that we come here having to WANT something? Being groomed to BE SOMETHING or to DO SOMETHING? Aren’t we enough? We are all most certainly NOT created equal, which is all the more reason to protect your fellow human. Which is all the more reason to be kind, to be good. To give the benefit of the doubt, and welcome with love.

The Rational Fool

Posted on 8 March 2015 | No responses

“The heart has its reasons which reason does not understand.”

- Blaise Pascal

Endless Curiosities

Posted on 25 February 2015 | No responses

The endless curiosities that are

The rhyming dying nonsense of noise

the overly populated population of nonsense

has become us

good god. if only we could take a breath more often.

we are consuming ourselves.

and only the smart can push ahead to better themselves

however the irony to their progeny, but to their conscious?

to their fucking conscious

what is this game, but against yourself?

Rob Nelson

Anonymous Friend

Posted on 12 January 2015 | No responses

“The dentist is going to put me under. I’m going to test out the sativa chocolate later as well.”

- Anonymous Friend

Theodore Roosevelt, Victory nor Defeat

Posted on 27 October 2014 | 1 response

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

- Theodore Roosevelt

When Death Comes – A Poem by Mary Oliver

Posted on 19 October 2014 | No responses

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

–Mary Oliver

True Desire

Posted on 1 October 2014 | No responses

Every true desire is more achievable than you think.

Posted on 23 September 2014 | No responses

Who Am I? And Who Are You? What Are We? And Why Do We Pee?

- Dr. Rob Man Suess

To Be Perfect …

Posted on 9 June 2014 | No responses

To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.

– Winston Churchill

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