Saturday, May 20, 2006

Redeeming Habit

I like drinking black coffee,
some mornings
more than others, but
I drink coffee
every morning
of every week.

Habit keeps me going anyway;
momentum.

Addiction: reelected once a day;
incumbent.

This morning,
the warmth in my hand,
the steam in my eyes,
make the daily addiction
worth it.
All those mornings of habit
are redeemed
when it makes a morning,
any morning,
feel like college
or that coffee you had on the deck of the ship
staring at jungle coastline
feeling refreshed
and ready.

I think of my other addictions like this too:
one wife,
two kinds smoking,
and all kinds of drink.

The thing to watch out for,
is a significant delay in redemption.
This is when the
Redemption of Habit,
has been a long time coming.

I should keep a journal,
of those perfect mornings
when I feel so well
constructed.
Then I could determine the standard
deviation of my addictions.
Rehab would always occur before
four standard deviations had been reached.
Maybe five.

Another thing I should do is remember.
I must remember,
when the anticipated and
unforeseen moment arrives,
at that moment,
that signal moment of a good addiction,
I must do nothing but soak
And bathe
And breathe
Until I feel so exceptional, that
I have no need to do anything else.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

I Hear What You're Saying

There are mornings, sitting at my desk, when I long to move to an unknown city, be poor, be lonely and hungry for success again. I miss the happy care free parties of my youth when we were all clueless and free of responsibility. We had little to loose because we had done so little that was productive. We had just enough education to feel sharp and insightful, and not nearly enough to humble and weight our thoughts, they were light because they were empty. Have I ever enjoyed conversation so much?

Now, I know these are thoughts not meant to remember, but meant to be a prelude to change. Everything has purpose, we are pragmatic machines. So instead of enjoying the memory I wonder at what changes are brewing and bubbling up inside, what tides of drive must I contend with, and how long do I have before the struggle. I welcome it, but that never makes it easier.

Come change, you are welcome here, but I dread all that will transpire. I'm convinced utopias all have a similar element; freedom from change. All utopias are imagined to last forever, in a perfect state set forth by their inspired founders. I struggle with little unnamed utopian dreams, as I imagine everyone does. Working to get something just right, put that last piece in place, and just cruise in a perfect space... Then change comes and blows away the thick smoke of these working class blankets and comforters.

Change is coming, that natural inescapable force of my nature, and I will welcome it and let it rob me of my comfort and imagined futures. I will cling for a short time, not hard enough that it can't over power me, and not long enough that it passes. I will not resist too much.

These innocent seeming memories, of past exploits and pleasures, they come to you on occasion. They always come for a reason. I've described mine, there are many. We are pragmatic purposeful machines, and these memories are a language of argument and persuasion employed between parts of your sub conscious mind. Its all you, but you are many. Attune your ear to hear their words and read their intentions and you will be a better manager of your self.

Don't Pet Me!

When you stop petting your pet dog it ceases to be your pet and reverts to being a dog.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

A Mild Positive Psychosis

I believe there are people better at living than I am. I think a majority may be. This belief stems from a constant impression that I am not very good at it, and so I believe that someone must be. Contra-observation: I have not met one of these people. More to the point I have never realized them at the moment. Years later, when recalled from that naturally efficient and imperfect quality called memory, I begin to imagine that certain people were perfectly adjusted, resting in the warm center of expectation. I may be better able to understand them now, or it could easily be that I’ve begun to impress my own symbologies and world view on them, as actors, in a play I’m writing for myself, that we all write for ourselves. I still believe they are out there, these happily centered people living well and with ease. I’ve never met them, though I may have remembered them, but how can I help believe when they are always across the edge of the map. How can I alleviate my belief, though it causes undo strain, when my eyes are always in their direction, never seen? My eyes are fixed on a point across the edge of the map and I believe people live there, not yet seen.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Work Spends Me

I haven’t written much lately, and
my recent ideas feel undernourished,
and skeletal, to the touch.

A common poverty

Work spends me,
spends
and spends
until I’m spent.
Good ideas flow
in and back out
not captured.
They will have to come again
when I’m rested
relaxed, and
refreshed.

Maybe after the next
objective, deadline or strategy
is realized
i’ll be better able
to save my time
and energy.
Then I’ll be rested
relaxed, and
refreshed.

A common hope