Saturday, May 2, 2015

Stream of Consciousness

What words belong? The blankness begs, a question nothing but loose change in a pocket. Obnoxious. Who uses anything but plastic rectangles and magstripes nowadays to pay their way?

Pay my way. 

How to pay back the neglect? 

Free it up. Don't dwell too long on a branch. It could snap and it's a long way down. I've left it in the nest too long, half-hatched. Wake up, muse. Flutter on, stretch your glorious limbs, lick your lips, and exhale.

I sit on this sofa. Shit from Jerome's, part of a living room set. An eager purchase to fill this blank room, 2 years ago. It caves strategically, whereever we plant our asses most. Warm amber glow from the included lamps.

I'm nestled in one of the sofa cave-ins, bare legs still soft from recent shave, bent knees-first into the arm supporting this dinosaur of a laptop, recently salvaged from failure city. I've said my "fuck you" to jeans, a careless crumple of denim litter on the floor. But I stopped there. Too lazy I guess to fuck off with the rest. 

This position would not have done too well 100 pounds ago. Now, I enjoy few things more than curling up whenever I can.

My phone rings alarm against the back of my thigh. So that's where it went. Time to take antibiotic.

I will shave again tonight, whatever the razor catches. Vanity doesn't drive the nightly ritual; sleep does. I don't sleep quite right if everything isn't smoothed down. 

Here I sit. In my nothing writing. Tapping away on a keyboard missing its "a" key. But maybe the insignificant trips up meaning later. Maybe tonight. Maybe next Friday. Maybe 3 weeks from today. I just remember, when I did this before. It came. Eventually.

Bjork.  I've got her competing with the tower fan right now. My can she be pretentious sometime. I don't care. I've got her Bastards album in consuming through the queue, misfit pieces that did not belong with the rest. 

But, her misfits are among my favorites in what I know of her work. It feels appropriate enough to break out in full span grin.

Suddenly, a conversation with my boss comes to mind. "No one is so special or unique. Everyone feels and thinks the dark things you do, you know." I could agree, almost fullheartedly. I'm not one for absolutes.

One, I wouldn't say "everyone" but "lots of folks." 
Two, I would say, "no one is so special or unique in their thoughts or emotions because we are all human."
Three, I would add about the dark things: "and each responds or interacts with those things differently, sometimes similarly, but ultimately unique to the sum of that individual's composition as driven by genetics, experiences, and current beliefs based on those experiences."

Some people are uncomfortable with the differences. So much, they fight wars, kill each other, oppress others. Justification is easier than confronting the discomfort that sits with us all.


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