The Shy Person Who Thought
Each day, I pass by many people. They are all walking somewhere too as I walk to my own destinations. These people are alone and comfortable on their own tracks. I greet one, and in a few instants we become the best of friends. This is possible because there are so few before me who have laid footsteps for me to follow.
Because the rarity of my actions brings value to my actions. I understand this. These people have tireless thoughts to relay. The places they are walking towards. The places they’ve walked to before. The destinations, having changed by time. The numerous roads not taken.
I know my worth. I do not bother; I offer relief. This is how little events create friendships. Intimate friendships of a lifetime.
A shy person imagines many things. This shy person, in any parallel world, may have imagined these same things through the same day. This shy person, in any parallel world, may have seen the same people walk by and bothered only but one of them.
And as it played out, in this alternate world, the world of a daydreamer, new best friends were made.
But, today, a shy person passes by many people and greets not one of them for all are strangers.
In a world of shy people.
October 27, 2009 at 6:38 pm | Reflections | No comments
Jealousy Is Illogical
A friend of old today I saw again.
No longer young and bright of age was he,
Yet less did time change he than most of man
For in his heart was purpose same to be.
When through the course of times stayed rested I,
Forever standing was this stubborn friend.
While all the fickle days I lived a lie,
So ever firm was he and firm to end
For clear to him was all the life he knew.
Through all the days, he did sustain me so
Because for reason, he had reason true
To be resigned from plagues of all we know.
So finally, confesséd I to Chair,
“Oh, Chair! I envy thou who’s always there!”
October 22, 2009 at 8:33 pm | Poetry | No comments
Shortening
Lifepost is more of a Blog News section. Really. Nonetheless, in the forecasting of this blog’s news, I must remark a trend of which I have caught myself at awares with.
There is an overall tendency, lately, in this blog Randomness, Rambles, and Reflection for the blogposts to grow shorter. Now, while being short has its advantages(such as giving a longer journey to rain droplets falling from the sky to your head), being tall is advantageous in sports such as basketball. Therefore, I must digress to mention that I would much prefer my articles to be proficient at the sport of basketball than for them to give rain droplets longer journeys to their heads.
However, my will is not enough to change this natural trend. Surely the writer of blog posts has no power over his own creations? It is solely the job of the writer to create then watch as the creations guide themselves among the infinitude of possibilities.
Seriously, though, guys. Anyone else notice the sudden bubble of poetry and short prose rather than long Quintessences of Rambling? No? Oh well, finding random trends in your own writing is fun anyways.
October 18, 2009 at 9:18 pm | Lifepost | 1 comment
Refocus
I kept opening the doors and finding dead ends. That’s how I played it all out in my head. I realize now I never opened any doors, for I had kept them all shut.
A blurry camera does not take good pictures. But, we don’t call cameras blurry; we call pictures blurry.
I was always the one who made the work, but the work was itself.
I wrote a word on the wall. I wrote another word on the wall. In a few moments, I had my sentence. “I am about to open this door,” said the sentence. Paradoxically, I stared at the sentence I had created.
The sentence was not a lie. So long as it was constantly reread, the about-to-ness was renewed, and so I could reread forever that sentence which I had writ.
That sentence was not blurry. It was crisp to the edges and fully legible.
October 18, 2009 at 8:59 pm | Reflections | No comments
One Sitting
Start now, it says
Start now, not later.
I will start.
And I do.
And I still do.
And I keep do.
And I watch my watch,
Finally.
No worries, it lies,
The will is timeless.
Tomorrow I will start.
Tomorrow I do.
Tomorrow I don’t.
October 15, 2009 at 8:18 pm | Poetry | No comments
To Play With Words
To play with Words
is to never be bored,
to always have many friends,
friends who
You do not know,
not fully,
not surely.
explore, explore,
ask away,
spend the day
with Old Friends,
friends who never told
all they could do.
October 11, 2009 at 12:32 pm | Poetry | No comments
The Confessions of an Aspiring Artist
Beauty can be found in the simplest things in life. Art can be made of the most trivial little details of the world. Art can be made from life. The making of art gives meaning to all these things.
Or at least that’s what I’d like to say, being an artist. Everyone wants to feel important, like the things they do–or create–have significance
I constantly am in notice of small details. I remember the simple things in life. I eat a dinner and slowly chew. I stare in awe at the little black shadows formed where grains of white rice overlap. I am inspired to a pattern; there is an incredible balance in the rounded ellipses of the white rice and the concave deltas of the black shadows. They create patterns which are logical. They create patterns which are meaningless. They create the food of my thoughts for the next hour.
It’s always so easy to imagine yourself doing something which you never do. You never even try to do that thing you imagined. I imagined my self sketching the rice, savoring that moment when it was arranged on my plate in a way it would never be arranged in again. But, the thought was too absurd. I had been calmly eating dinner for an hour. I was supposed to be eating dinner, not staring at rice, not observing rice, not admiring rice.
Being an artist, it is in my nature to observe. Inspiration comes from the most unexpected places, they say. I walk around in a random small-town parking lot, the kind that isn’t very paved. I am always looking down, looking up, and looking around me when I walk. Sometimes I become self-conscious of my observation; no one else I see seems to move their head around as much when they walk. But I must take full use of my own eyes.
It is this way in this parking lot. I feel the bumps of the little rocks below me, and suddenly I am drawn to their attention more than the sparse cars, more than the placid sky, more than the little rustic castaway furniture store. I see these rocks are variegated in shades of gray. There are many grays. But, every few rocks there is a perfectly brown-orange one. I am in awe of the way these rocks are arranged. In an instant, I stare. In an instant, I think.
I look at the rocks around. The whole parking lot has these same rocks scattered about, but in a cursory scan, I feel that no other patch of this lot is arranged nearly to the perfection of the one I stand on. There are too-numerous brown-orange rocks clumped together. There are too-vast expanses of gray rocks. This chance deeply humbles me, and I muse my gratitude for the small things in life.
I have played through such scenes in their entirety, continually. I am never truly bored because I am always occupied. People around me see me standing frozen looking down at the ground. People around see me with a faraway gaze. Perhaps I waste my time. I am looking for something which is not there; a meaning to it all.
But I live for the novelty of seeing more rocks, and I am constantly creating the nature of my mind. I create the structure of my thoughts. I observe, and I remember. Anything that can make a mark can sketch. Life is a tool to draw a portrait of existence. And the making of art gives meaning to these things.
Or at least that’s what I’d like to believe, being an artist.
October 11, 2009 at 12:16 pm | Lifepost, Reflections | No comments