Cut to "Now"
Could you tell in my last pass,
my past post,
my last past
that I was lost?
Breathless.
Alive.
Crackling with
conversations
in every direction.
It continues,
but it's all good.
Mostly good?
Certainly good-enough.
It's been busy,
there is always more to do -
but it is all fun stuff
besides petty cost like commute time/energy,
paying bills,
and the physical maintenance of
life.
My complaints are:
"Chores exist!"
"My experience of time is linear!"
"Money is not equivalent to 'value', and yet is treated as such!"
So really,
I can't complain.
Sailor just ran his first juried art show,
I'm single-handedly doing a podcast for our station,
my mom has been going through a slow melt-down for two years,
I made a decision that will drive me away
from a dream I once had.
Assorted friends and family are building houses,
and buying houses, and raising kids,
and sending them off to their first days of school,
and remodeling, and moving, and everything else.
Life. Goes. On.
My current favorite recent picture is of
abunchofcrap in sunglasses
pointing at a perfect, round, yellow tomato
while standing next to sunflowers
in front of an orchard
with the grass red with fallen fruit.
It is Fall.
Capitalized.
Pronoun and adjective in one.
We accidentally went to Harvest Fest.
Corn mazes. Apples by the crate.
Pits o' peaches.
Pumpkins on the vine.
Long-haired girls in cowboy boots and white lacey dresses worn especially
to take a selfie on the straw bales
with a bucket of apples beside them.
Oh, humans.
It's like you miss the point
of EVERYTHING.
The farm kids ringing people up tell us
"The donut peaches are perfectly ripe - today.
They're very sweet... tastes like no other peach.
You'll love them!"
Those farm kids didn't lie.
I've never had such a perfect peach.
Even the cover band on the main stage
singing Garth Brooks
("Low Places")
can't ruin its taste.
And here I am.
And you?
I'm hoping for good news.
my past post,
my last past
that I was lost?
Breathless.
Alive.
Crackling with
conversations
in every direction.
It continues,
but it's all good.
Mostly good?
Certainly good-enough.
It's been busy,
there is always more to do -
but it is all fun stuff
besides petty cost like commute time/energy,
paying bills,
and the physical maintenance of
life.
My complaints are:
"Chores exist!"
"My experience of time is linear!"
"Money is not equivalent to 'value', and yet is treated as such!"
So really,
I can't complain.
Sailor just ran his first juried art show,
I'm single-handedly doing a podcast for our station,
my mom has been going through a slow melt-down for two years,
I made a decision that will drive me away
from a dream I once had.
Assorted friends and family are building houses,
and buying houses, and raising kids,
and sending them off to their first days of school,
and remodeling, and moving, and everything else.
Life. Goes. On.
My current favorite recent picture is of
abunchofcrap in sunglasses
pointing at a perfect, round, yellow tomato
while standing next to sunflowers
in front of an orchard
with the grass red with fallen fruit.
It is Fall.
Capitalized.
Pronoun and adjective in one.
We accidentally went to Harvest Fest.
Corn mazes. Apples by the crate.
Pits o' peaches.
Pumpkins on the vine.
Long-haired girls in cowboy boots and white lacey dresses worn especially
to take a selfie on the straw bales
with a bucket of apples beside them.
Oh, humans.
It's like you miss the point
of EVERYTHING.
The farm kids ringing people up tell us
"The donut peaches are perfectly ripe - today.
They're very sweet... tastes like no other peach.
You'll love them!"
Those farm kids didn't lie.
I've never had such a perfect peach.
Even the cover band on the main stage
singing Garth Brooks
("Low Places")
can't ruin its taste.
And here I am.
And you?
I'm hoping for good news.