Tuesday, September 29, 2009

you sometimes get a peek...

those brief paradisiacal moments...
trapezoidal shadows that creep across the floor with the arch of the passing sun
an inch worm that crawls across your finger when shuffling through greens at the farmers market
leafing through pages at a local bookstore
moments that are routinely taken for granted...
the smell of coffee slipping under the door
steam from a shower that is not your own
towel from a fresh load of laundry

... moments that are constantly slipping away.

Friday, September 25, 2009

no trespassing


It begins with a story. A story affecting a concern for the truth. What happened has happened. What has happened is happening.

The story begins here. If you look around you, you will notice that indeed, we've been here all along. In this peculiar room. However, if you're having trouble seeing just what I mean by peculiar, perhaps I will describe it to you.

Black. Dark. Void. Unstable, irregular, fantastic, unforeseeable, world ungoverned by any reason or rule. Here there are no walls, no roof, in fact there is no room. But if you were to you open your eyes a little wider than they are right now, you might be able to make out a gate with a simple padlock any child could break, a sign ‘Private no trespassing’ that no one can go through. Beyond a path hidden by bushes crowned with a tall white-framed door with three steps, the second of which is fractured. The room beyond is painted yellow and white and the floor is patched linoleum with flecks of purple and blue. A fancy yet frail looking table is in the center with a polished wood top, bare except for the lopsided pile of library books, a thin rose colored teapot, and freshly cut flowers. If you would tilt you head ever so slightly, and if you were to take a careful look along the edges of our frame you'd notice someone you are not at all familiar with.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

daily totals

$35 an hour, 10 hours, 3500 square feet, 46 tables, 2 games of beer pong, and a room full of drunks. 4 resumes dispersed. 4 hours designing a business card. Free for a total of $17.98. 21 days shipping. 1/2 bottle of wine. No dinner. 18 surreptitious steps from the front door to my bed. 1 pathway laid: 1 bag, 2 shoes, 1 shirt,1 pants, 1 bra, underpants. (Sigh). 213 salty tears into 4 pillows, fluffed, folded, and scrunched until I fall into the memory of a shoulder. Too long since I’ve had one other than my own. Alone. Too many doubts. $42 for window shades. 5 story construction across the street. Fully naked. 3 whistles. Before they got my attention. 2.5. miles around the park. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Sometimes fast, mostly slow. $3 organic greens on the way home. 2 eggs, 7 minutes boiled. 1 batch of granola cooked 10 minutes too brown. One eye blurs. One knee sore. Too many years to mention. Alone. 4 Steinbeck novellas. 4 nights of insomnia. 4 monthly bills. 1 pair of shoes on the wish list, 4 inches, $248. 5 emails. 2 friends fired. 0 phones calls. Too many excuses. 5 websites. 2 movies. An ocean of gossip. 3 hours wasted.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009





rhopos, (greek) refers to the trivial objects, odds and ends, and mundane things that compose our daily lives as human beings. It is that unassuming material of life that importance constantly overlooks.