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December 15th, 2021

Love Is All That Ever Will Be, Can Be

It’s a slow burn until it’s over. And then it seems to have happened all of a sudden

(As if there were no preface about its finality. No indication that the whole thing would end up in ashes ((It was a possibility, sure. But not quite an absolute. There was always a chance (((Though only if you believe in it ((((Like really really want it and believe in it and know it with every bone in your body (((((Right there deep in the belly of your being past all the mushy stuff (((((((Right in there))))) that the ember could suspend time, glow there at the tips of your fingers like a giant sun ((((This is a reality for some. A truth. They exist in defiant act against the paradoxical disposition, “By inhaling its very essence (((((what produces this magnificent illumination))))) leads to its inevitable end”))))) and radiate in all its splendor for eternity)) . . . All of this going on in my head as Thom Yorke tells me, over and over,

“Everything in its right place . . . In its right place . . . Everything . . . Everything.”

My mind goes to work on the proposition.

How can we know this to be true? By what comparison does he stake his claim? If there are an infinite amount of probabilities, how could this be? What litmus test reveals to us the workings of the Unknown?

I don’t have an answer. I won’t even try to pretend that I do . . . Though, I will say I think I get it . . . Sort of . . . I’ve seen it once, actually . . . In a dream (More like visions from a space doobie ((With different forms and shapes in perfect geometry dissipating into new mechanical workings with efflorescent cogs blooming without end like the center of a pentagram (((Outward and inward, inward and outward)))). And it went on and on. Always perfect. Always in its right place. No matter the design.

There was something to the feeling of it. Like a trust fall. Or Beginner’s luck. This was the true inner workings of the thing. I knew it. This is that which is (Heuristics with dimethyltryptamine). No statistic of its improbability could make me think otherwise. Much like any law created by Man (And I don’t mean maaaaan ((The former from the Germanic mann meaning person regardless of gender or age or any other self-prescribed identity)) could never reason with the human spirit. The thing that connects us, that inspires us to will ourselves beyond the impossible. Call it a metaphysical law of human nature. One where the strongest (physically) aren’t necessarily the ones who survive, but those with the belief of it, who have given meaning without question (Which brings me back to my thought before Tom fed me his red herring ((The one about acting against a paradoxical disposition))).

There are some among us who can perceive beyond the constraints of past and future, who live without restraint knowing there are moments (and I mean goddamn beautiful moments) that cannot be measured in numbers or dollar signs, but by the glory of their vulnerability.

There are some among us who have and continue to wrestle with their own ineptitudes, who remain open because of their belief in the work.

Their heartsleeves bleed for it. And they persist to exist in the pureness of it. No matter the pain. No matter the loss. The suffering . . . I’m certain that if you look in the annals of human history you will find little record of those who have wagered the human heart, who have gambled against the odds and come out clean on the other side. And it is by their very perception of reality that makes this possible. They know that the Eternal Moment is always and forever right now. That it’s never too late for one last roll of the dice (It was only hours prior to this that I had witnessed with my own eyes of what I speak. ((And I’ll never forget it (((The way she sat up tall, her legs crossed beneath her body on the floral velvet couch. And how she bloomed in the afternoon sunlight that seemed to radiate all around her as she told me,

“I’m so happy . . . That someday somebody is going to love me. I can’t wait.”

With tears running down her cheeks, smiling at the odds. ((((They were simple words. Absolutely brilliant.)))) I wept right there. I am weeping now as I write this . . . I had witnessed something beautiful. Was moved by the inner strength of it. The capacity that it takes to remain open. And I was touched by her light (((The ember’s defiant act against all laws that require its existence to be quelled by the breathing of the essence of it)))).

I’ve never known a love so big . . . Everything . . . Everything . . . In its right place.



January 5th, 2022

We Are What We Think And My Thoughts Are Like Shoes

New Years Day. The snow came down at a slant and covered Omaha in a white sheen. The streets. The trees. Below the eaves of houses. A wind storm white with a heavy dusting whirled the white dust on the shingles outside my window and blew it out over 50th Street…

December 29th, 2021

The Art Of Missing Flights

It starts with relapse. A victim in the driver’s seat. Then resolves towards my departure that begins the escapade that I will now relate to you…


December 22nd, 2021

Boredom Is A Bookmark If You Look At It Right

At Eppley with my head pressed against the window. Eyes closed. Waiting…



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