From two months ago in a windowless, but hearty place.
Hacky sack is a sport for the soul.
The first time I ever kicked at a hacky sack was Christmas eve 2005. The night after my first holiday fest with a rhombus of animals stuck inside of human shapes. Sitting on the wide seat of the low back couch on Selkirk. I felt ashamed for causing any grief for Melissa, but held fast because I did not want the night to end. Forgive my selfishness always, I cannot be helped. She laid down the understandable irritations, yet still, in the end I found myself walking uptown with Z and Brunke. Silent night heading over the green steel bridge; listening to the yawn that could swallow those cars whole. The tangerine glow emanating from the lantern street lights onto the slush brick street ahead.
Must have been around midnight I suspect. We stopped just in front of the Nest; neither Max nor I were able to step foot in there yet. Max still isn’t. Jesus where is the logic? A’int to be I suppose for who could possibly be counted trustworthy enough to decide? - How would you measure their capacity for decision making? Bah!
When I saw that ratty looking hippie ion, I merely saw it as the tool to make me look the fool. Yet, these were to be the early moments in my life where I learned to discern the difference between a fool and a child’s heart. Or, at least the warm association of the two.
Hours were thus spent, with toe dives and seemingly disjointed limbs struggling to get some body part to knock that sack back into the air. By the time we’d all had enough my pants were never more and would be forever be caked from that evening.
From those first few nights with what would become my own inner rhombus core I would learn so many things that had been delayed in my life; kindred ship being the centre of it all, because anything that’s meaningful must in the end come to that. Human connection: my heart finally has something beautiful to keep safe for it is a picky vault.
Always, it’s to help pass the time, to talk of things that could not have been spoken in a stiff awkward sit down purely from content. This is the ADD generation, gotta work with what you’ve got. ADD and, thusly some severe lack of communication skills.
We all wanna be telepathic because we never have the right words, just the feelings.
The aware suffer for the Self, the ignorant suffer with the self.
“I punish myself my whole life. My whole life I punish.” - Dmitri Karamazov.
This was the time when we could feel only easiness because of the leisure. Rain or shine, snow or wind. Next to flooded rivers or parking lot signs we kicked and hollered and schemed and loved and yearned and died. Reborn. Phoenix too, but that I can’t explain right now.
It is the activity that brings the good because you cannot be anything but calm to truly play the game. Its nature insists. If you’re not calm, than you’re not enjoying it, and if you do not enjoy it that’s totally fine. But find your equivalent please.
There was one time when I was so down I couldn’t play. I’d only ruin any chance of a hack. And not being able to play made me feel worse than what was preventing me in the first place. What prevents me from enjoying myself is not worth having around at all. A rather convenient filter of sorts.
It reminds me of light hearts and quick feet. Sharp minds, and a summer that I could, but wouldn’t give anything to have back. Mostly because it’d be like a devastating insult.
…..Hahahah, I started this with the intent to tell Jens how much I love him. I really do. And I don’t care who reads this because I’m not going to be afraid of interpretation anymore. As long as I myself understand and am happy with it who gives a hoot!!
Yippee!!
Dear Jens,
Past, present, future is your finest song and I love you with all of my shriveled yet surviving heart!
The first time I ever kicked at a hacky sack was Christmas eve 2005. The night after my first holiday fest with a rhombus of animals stuck inside of human shapes. Sitting on the wide seat of the low back couch on Selkirk. I felt ashamed for causing any grief for Melissa, but held fast because I did not want the night to end. Forgive my selfishness always, I cannot be helped. She laid down the understandable irritations, yet still, in the end I found myself walking uptown with Z and Brunke. Silent night heading over the green steel bridge; listening to the yawn that could swallow those cars whole. The tangerine glow emanating from the lantern street lights onto the slush brick street ahead.
Must have been around midnight I suspect. We stopped just in front of the Nest; neither Max nor I were able to step foot in there yet. Max still isn’t. Jesus where is the logic? A’int to be I suppose for who could possibly be counted trustworthy enough to decide? - How would you measure their capacity for decision making? Bah!
When I saw that ratty looking hippie ion, I merely saw it as the tool to make me look the fool. Yet, these were to be the early moments in my life where I learned to discern the difference between a fool and a child’s heart. Or, at least the warm association of the two.
Hours were thus spent, with toe dives and seemingly disjointed limbs struggling to get some body part to knock that sack back into the air. By the time we’d all had enough my pants were never more and would be forever be caked from that evening.
From those first few nights with what would become my own inner rhombus core I would learn so many things that had been delayed in my life; kindred ship being the centre of it all, because anything that’s meaningful must in the end come to that. Human connection: my heart finally has something beautiful to keep safe for it is a picky vault.
Always, it’s to help pass the time, to talk of things that could not have been spoken in a stiff awkward sit down purely from content. This is the ADD generation, gotta work with what you’ve got. ADD and, thusly some severe lack of communication skills.
We all wanna be telepathic because we never have the right words, just the feelings.
The aware suffer for the Self, the ignorant suffer with the self.
“I punish myself my whole life. My whole life I punish.” - Dmitri Karamazov.
This was the time when we could feel only easiness because of the leisure. Rain or shine, snow or wind. Next to flooded rivers or parking lot signs we kicked and hollered and schemed and loved and yearned and died. Reborn. Phoenix too, but that I can’t explain right now.
It is the activity that brings the good because you cannot be anything but calm to truly play the game. Its nature insists. If you’re not calm, than you’re not enjoying it, and if you do not enjoy it that’s totally fine. But find your equivalent please.
There was one time when I was so down I couldn’t play. I’d only ruin any chance of a hack. And not being able to play made me feel worse than what was preventing me in the first place. What prevents me from enjoying myself is not worth having around at all. A rather convenient filter of sorts.
It reminds me of light hearts and quick feet. Sharp minds, and a summer that I could, but wouldn’t give anything to have back. Mostly because it’d be like a devastating insult.
…..Hahahah, I started this with the intent to tell Jens how much I love him. I really do. And I don’t care who reads this because I’m not going to be afraid of interpretation anymore. As long as I myself understand and am happy with it who gives a hoot!!
Yippee!!
Dear Jens,
Past, present, future is your finest song and I love you with all of my shriveled yet surviving heart!