Lonely Gregory

He is not dead to us.  To us, he lives on in the company of two other old chaps: our spirituality and realised Oneness; in the company of both the boundless divinity of existence, and our enjoyment of the immersive wisdom that waits for us just past the quintuplets of sensory experience.  The three codgers get along, carrying on, relishing the cool touch of their tired, callused soles on the grey, smooth-worn, bare cement floor; of their stiff and crooked thoracic hunches on the damp, granular, vertical legacy of a passionless stonemason.  Around an absent campfire, the brotherly trio grin and chuckle with introspective, warm gazes that sometimes wander – through the tall, narrow spaces afforded by a militant row of unyielding ferrous solidity – with a patient yet unexpecting hope to see their key-bearer; or, rather, for their key-bearer to see them.  It has been so long.

Pardon?  His name was “Lonesome George”, not “Lonely Gregory”?

Whatever.

Feathered Goals

Eating what’s on my plate with invisible adults usually seems like such a dauntingly big deal.  I only managed half a potato and a few peas today.  There’s so much left over, as usual.  I found lots of things that I hadn’t put on my plate, and I mostly ate those with invisible children instead.  Berry picking seems so much less serious than planned meals do, or I have a detrimental habit of thinking so, at least.  Tomorrow I will remind myself that eating what’s on my plate with invisible adults really isn’t a big deal.  What’s currently on my plate is on my plate for no other reason than because I put it there because it’s what I want.  What a privilege.

“EQ”uilibrium II

The farce of prudence, with its expansive, undulating terrain of copious, minutial, consequence-laden neutron stars, is easily caustically bathed down to the essence of human existence by immediacy.

“EQ”uilibrium I

Adrenalin’s coat of softness obliviously thickened and thinned under the clock’s uncompromising, panoptical gaze, which sternly intended to determine the pace of To Do list abrasion with a zero tolerance of the persistent, sweet call of breezy, luminous, child-like whimsy; of foolish, naïve and deceptively detrimental whimsy; of soul sugar, with all the ephemeral delight for now but with no societal nutrition for the future, with a façade of goodness concealing a heart of decay, and with a necessity to be exterminated.

Winter Solstice

The Taxi’s War on Ethiopia pulled up to give a perfect beaded bracelet to the firm, warm hug before smiling and enjoying Beertnamese with the so very healing overlap of present and future.