It begins to rain, and I’m glad I took the evening off.
I took the weekend off too, and although I didn’t get in as much thinking as I had intended, it was still magnificent.
There are themes in life and experience.
Sometimes, amidst the clamor
silence is simpler. Listen; hear
what words cannot whisper.
Oh look. I wrote a poem. Maybe I’ll stop blogging so I write. Not that I blog anymore. Maybe I’ll resume blogging and have a purpose in it.
I’m not sure which among pessimism, realism or cynicism has the microphone to tell you that life doesn’t figure itself out or get less complicated.
Somewhere a week or five ago, likely on a journal or lost scrap of paper, I wondered that this spring I’m having an identity crisis for lack of having an identity crisis. Because really, every year since probably my sophomore spring of high school (2003), spring has involved big changes that involve a certain amount of self-reconstitution. And this year hasn’t.
See. This is why I don’t blog anymore. I start a train of thought and can’t get around to concluding it.
Well, this seems as good a place as any to stop trying to figure out how to bring any sort of cohesion to this post. Gratuitous cell phone pic!