Only Taught to Learn Algebra

The twenty-seventh time
my fingers reached out the window
whose hinges were falling loose,
the sting came before
the fall.

The Letter P

Potentially permanent periods of puzzlement pollute my personal ponderings in a particularly pleasant-less way. Pending the prospect of permanence is more than petrifying and purging all persistently precarious pests proficiently is a positively pressing predicament. Periodically possessing personal peace does, however, take place, petering perplexities for partial points. Perchance passing pleasantries may perturb perspectives, but present and pithy pride is a palpable paradise to the past.

Relatively Shaken not Simply Stirred

I guess there are moments of in our existences that really shake things up. Like a friendly game of Boggle. And if you are nothing like myself, which in this case means you're horrible at it, it would take you some staring and heavy concentration to even begin to make out something that resembles a word youre familiar with.

This is kiiinda the same thing (albeit a stretch, but its good to do so at times. Stretch, that is). When you're shaken up like a game of Boggle, its really difficult to put yourself back into the beautifully constructed sentence that was yourself. That small piece of prose that you cultivated so gracefully to only be flicked at by some passing circumstance, now crumbled to an irrecognizable heap. How now do you go about it all? I mean, what exactly would be most efficient? To recreate the exact sentence as best you remember it? Or to start completely anew?

These such things are the types of questions that kind of ferment when you stand on really long lines at Starbucks. Which, on a completely distant note reminds me of a quote from The Smiths that struck so much of a chord, I saved it on my phone: "Too much caffeine in your bloodstream and a lack of real spice in your life". Not entirely sure about the latter, but the first half definitely describes me well.

(I dont know how the game of boggle/life experience metaphor swooped up the image of sentences, but it did. And im not going to apologize for it.)

Hear me out on this one

I kind of like the idea of hitting rock bottom. Its just nice to think of some sort of substantial surface to lie down on instead of floating in uncertainty, wondering whether you're falling or rising.

An Interesting Thought From August

We like to put chapters in our lives so we can end some parts and start new ones. The thing is, life doesn't work that way. Whether we like it or not, life is one continuous stream, not fragmented experiences. And I know this usually isn't the positivity that I typically like to dish out but sometimes things happen that you cannot package neatly with a bow and send away.

But you can always, always, send away a chicken breast that has been undercooked. Remember that, at the very least. (You are paying for that raw, dead animal!)

One Toe Too Many

Four toes is the exact number of digits
it takes to walk this thin thread
of close proximities and gnawing distances
and perfect amounts of sugar packets
for those warm teacups of you

On four toes
I dance to the beat of the song
the stranger on the bus is humming
and never miss a step of the small
handfuls of first days, brought
inches from my nose
to breathe in beginnings that
never exhale into
final words

But alas
I am the entropy of balance
tripping on the discovery
of all the different forms
getting nowhere takes,
Where right times turn to left handed shoves
in the opposite direction
and hot beverages go cold
in a miscalculated attempt
at waiting.


You see,
Four toes is the perfect amount
it takes to step out of a door held wide open
without stumbling on lingering words
left like packages on the front stoop
While

five toes is just

one toe too many

to walk away at all.

The Second Time

The second time breeds caution
with careful steps; like going down
a flight of steps you took a bad fall on
the night before

The Cure for Emotional Arthritis

Loosen your grip and open your fist.

The How To's of Cliches

I think we often need the reminder that the fire and belief which we hold so passionately for other people, we need to hold for ourselves too. Not to simply be content in ourselves, but become a fan of your own person and everything that you do, rooting for every self aspiration the same way we would encourage a friend to take another shot in a pub in Dublin on St. Patrick's Day. (With belligerent, border-line violent enthusiasm)

This all may seem like a lot of ways to say, DUH. But I think the hardest thing for me is to listen to the very advice I dish out. It's cliche for a reason.

This is Where Dropped Calls Go to Die

Imagine if we believed everything that was said to us? Every "I love you" would change our lives forever and every "Go away" would break our hearts. What a mass of emotion we would be if belief was something that never lost its potency but stayed encased in its natural state of raw wonder. Would it be better or worse this way? Maybe we would be more intentional about the things we express. Maybe we would see free speech as something to be held delicately in our palms not waved aggressively over heads. And maybe the things we say would sound less like overstated proclamations of, "Look at me, I have something to say!" and more like steady streams of, "Listen."