Day 161

My tragic superhero origin story shall some day play out like this:
In attempts to understand his tax return, a mild mannered man child opens his mind so far that the top of his head swings open like barnyard door!
The impossibility of such an event summons a portal to otherworldly realms, which bursts forth and consumes the head of the grown child who thought he could act the adult!
The bespectacled bearded head with receding hairline and throbbing headache is gone! In it's place floats, just above the man-baby's broad shoulders: a nebulous void to realities unknown!
Criminals beware, for you're about to stare into: THE VOID!


I still won't understand my tax return.
But at least then I too will be impossible...

Day 160

She walked like there was music playing, which only she could hear.
An outsider might see her and describe the rhythmic strut as hypnotic, freeing, brazen, bold, entrancing, enhancing, romancing, worth a second-third-glancing, leading, feeding, relieving, waving, saving, rejuvenating, hopping, stopping, jaw-dropping, hip pops left twice before bobbing right, step patter patter ball change up over over over onward march! ...
Or maybe they wouldn't take notice. What do I know - I've only been starring for what feels like an eternity desperate to know what that the song might be ...
The music you live to.
What does that sound like?

Day 159

One can become very comfortable with ghosts coming in and out of their lives.
No more exciting than the appearance of a squirrel or a bird when sitting in a park.
Before the supernatural become commonplace, however, there is one very important step:
acknowledge their existence.
Until then, they are shadows on the wall. Flickers in the dark, causing a chill up the spine. Or a rake across your skin. The mind will fill in the blanks, creating monstrous things. Where only echoes of the dead are to be found.
But then, some people like the feeling.
Some cherish the fear.
But oh, there is still so much more to be afraid of ...

Day 158

As time goes on, and I become more honest with myself, my fears can be summed up by a sad game of hide and seek.
Hiding.
Successfully eluding discovery.
The game is abandoned, without my being told.
Not ended, mind you, abandoned.
So I simply hide from everyone forever.
Engaged in a game that no one else is playing . . .
I wish this fate for no one.

Day 157

And so where did our pilgrim finally find a moments release.

Not at the monastery for which they'd traveled all this way to visit. Not while on a plane; defying gravity and the natural order, while watching a movie over a rum and coke.

Not even while watching playlist after playlist of those motivational videos with the emotionally manipulative musical backing.

No.

Of all places, it was the motel bathroom.

An unremarkable room - plentiful in neither unpleasantness nor in charm, so as to allow one to let their guard down and draw a hot bath, because they're not paying for hydro after all. In a tiny room attached to a mid sized room, completely void of clutter.

No dishes to be done after the takeout meal - or delivery if submission to vacation gluttony is complete - is consumed.

No clothes to wash. No trash to be ignored.

No recycling to be forgotten.

Zero compost to regret leaving too long.

Naught to do, but occupy an unremarkable space, until checkout.

Maybe blow bubbles. Maybe not.

Naught to do, but to be.

Here, in a bathroom monastery, our pilgrim finds a moment of freedom . . .

Day 156

The lie you live by:
the harm you do to yourself, whether intended or not, is in someway for the benefit of others.
You made a martyr of your mistakes and built monuments out of the fallout.
Cleaning up isn't the same as forgetting.
Carry on.
Move on.
Move.

Day 155

And as she lie there on the pavement, watching the light fade from her world, our victim of cruel circumstance dad the following thought:
Why did I bother buying groceries if I'm not going to get to eat them this is what I get for not biking not driving not learning to drive but who needs to drive in the city it's more trouble than it's I really wasn't over my ex but right now I actually am and I hope I get through this so I can move with my dating life and having some guilt free sex I hope these aren't my last thoughts I hope my last thoughts are poignant but then no one will know my last thoughts are poignant so I hope my last thoughts can be poignant and somehow heard by someone in the world so someone knows how poignant I was in the end if this is the end fuck is this the end quick what's the last thing I said to everyone in my life when did I last talk to Mom when did I last talk to Grandpa is Grandpa really going to outlive me I should've written a letter to each of them I should have written more letters in general if I get out of this I'm writing everyone a letter every week or month or at least once a year I can do once a year like on their birthday I guess that's what birthday cards already are letters with pictures OK if I survive this I'll buy everyone birthday cards and ACTUALLY mail them on time for their birthday OK deal deal deal who am I making a deal with why am I making a deal I can't make a deal this isn't a transaction it's my life which I guess says a lot if I'm trying to treat it like a deal my life reduced to a metaphor I'm making my life into a metaphor why am I trying to make life a metaphor why am I trying to make sense of this this happens everyday and today is my day and I've been heading towards this my entire life and I don't wan that life to be summed up into me dying on the pavement trying to come up with some cliche inner narrative to lead me into a credit scroll that will never come because this isn't a movie of the final episode of a binge worthy show cut too short because the network and the audience couldn't see the potential of such a good thing and now it's gone to soon and everyone will want it to come back but it won't because this is my LIFE!!!!!
...
...
... I really hope someone eats those groceries ...
I hope I make it
...
Can I call my mom?

Day 154

You don't remember me, but you have had a profound impact on my life.
You were roughly the size of gourd, but still required two hands to hold.
Your eyes were perfect mirrors of a world that didn't yet understand itself, but would struggle to do so by you.
Your fragile neck tried to turn your head every which way, in the hopes you might catch a glimpse of anything and everything.
I hummed along to music not playing. Rocking you this way and that.
And at some point between a sigh and sway, I whispered a secret into the crown of your little head.
You don't remember it now. But it was the truest thing I had ever said to anyone.
And after saying it, you gave a little smile.
And I loved you forever, from then on.

- For CJT

Day 153

A pristine bedroom, lit by a setting sun.
The bed is made, the dresser is sorted, and the vanity is immaculate.
The serenity and idyllic setting is contrasted by a tipped vase of freshly cut flowers, which litter the once tidy floors.
The shredded remains of the note, which was a companion to the bouquet, lay sprinkled about the damp scene.
It is unfair how something so fragile as a collection of blossoming buds, or as unassuming as a hand written greeting, can be cause of so much anguish . . .

Day 152

A dog looks out a window looking over his kingdom, as the sun sets over the waters.
He sees the crashing waves lap along his rocky shore. And each ebb and flow brings another whisper of a thrill to the self owned pet.
One never knows what the next wave may bring
And his former master's body would have to wash ashore eventually...

Day 151

Upon learning that my roommates cat is not only a bastard, but indeed he is one of a set of twin bastards.
While his brother was rounder and fluffier, more inclined to ask for belly rubs and offer snuggles; this twin was not so friendly.
He's alright, more or less a cat's cat. Inquisitive, keeps mice away. Watches from a distance as if looking for a moment of weakness to exploit ... Huh.
His brother did mysteriously disappear when they were younger.
And this cat does sometimes sharpen his claws on my hand.
And I have often suspected that if he stopped getting fed, the cat would feast on me for nourishment ...
is my roommates cat an evil twin?!

Day 150

He had an unusual fondness for sketch pads and notebooks.

Any visit to a bookstore was incomplete without purchasing something for which to write on. This would make documenting his recorded thoughts and experiences tedious, to say the least.

One thought may begin on page 1 of a leather bound journal, but would then carry over to the middle of a coiled notebook, only to resolve on a lightly stained post-it lining his bulletin board.

It wasn't that the man's thoughts couldn't co-exist together. More that each one was a side of a conversation he was having with himself, and he kept being interrupted by another thought in another part of the room. So by the time he would finish recording, he'd have written his way across the room.

The result being an impressive treasure trove of handwritten pages, all bound and unsorted throughout his writers' den.

The eclectic author would confess his guilt at having accumulated so much paper.

"When Anubis should come to weigh my heart, a whole forest of dead trees may very well tip the scale out of my favour."

The sentiment was more humorous to his daughter before she had to sort through it all herself ... before the accident ...

Day 149

You felt it, right.

The first moment your child was approached by another one.

You watch from a distance and let it play out, because you know that children need to learn to interact with others.

You know this. You are aware.

And yet, you feel a chemical release inside your brain. 

It tastes like iron. Time slows down as neurons fire, lighting up the dark parts of your brain.

Those parts you don't like to think about, but nonetheless: they're there.

Nostrils flare, ears perk and eyes dilate. Your body is readying itself, taking cues from a billion year old tradition passed down from the first ape to hold a jagged rock and wrap it with ill intent.

You are aware. You know all of this.

But should that strange child do anything to harm yours, you know that your body is fully prepared to spring forward, grab them by the scruff and eat them.

You know this, right? You're aware of your inner beast?

. . . Oh! You don't?

Well.

Ask me again if I want to have kids.

Day 146

The tree man - that is a man who is also a tree not to be confused with a man who carries or sells trees - carried on with his tree man tasks.
"What tasks?" I hear you ask.
A number of duties fall to a tree man, providing shade in sun fairing days and shelter from windy nights, for example.
They stand in as obstacles for impromptu races and occasionally lend a hand for someone seeking a high five, but sadly are alone.
Yes, a tree man's work is as multifaceted.
And they live very long, tree men do. Because of this, they deliver messages to the great grand kids long after the great grandparents are gone; yet another important task we often forget.
"Well Gruncle Norman loved to hike, but an unfortunate limp made it difficult for him to do so. So he saw fit to help himself to one of my low hanging branches, to fashion himself a walking stick . . . we were not a fan of Gruncle Norman."
Take note, Tree men can carry grudges a lot longer than most any other living things . . .

Day 145

An ongoing series of videos analyzing and dissecting a nonexistent nostalgic cartoon series.
This fake series' humble beginnings as a program meant to trigger sleeper agents during the cold war, turned out to have some really good story telling elements.
It would spawn a line of toys and merchandise that would eventually lead the way for a direct to video movie.
Eventually it would fade into obscurity when the cold war ended, resulting in the CIA funding being pulled.
NOW re-imagined for a new generation to consume! And possibly be brainwashed by . . . !

Day 144

This is the story of two brothers, born two years apart.
The elder brother was born mere steps from a mighty blaze. The most destructive this land had ever seen. Hordes of ravenous flame ignited the mountainside, consuming all that was green and good in it's wake.
As it drew closer to this child's own home, the gentle babe let out his tiny cry. Small though he was, his voice made manifest a trumpet's call and summoned all the people far and wide to beat the hellfire back. To turn the fiery tide.
An unsteady peace was met.
Until unforgiving frost claimed the scorched land. A winter that seemed a punishment for crimes too ancient to recall and too terrible for which to repent. The frost had found its way to the very hearts of every neighbor, some still tired from the fire fight only years before. This piercing cold threatened an eternal sleep on the inflicted citizens of the new formed tundra.
But like his brother before him, a child was born in time of need. And this child's voice, too, was a thing of miracles. The tender cries of this gentle babe, would melt the numbing ice inside the people's chests. As if warm arms embraced each of them from the inside out. With hearts warmed and will renewed, they all would learn to weather these sub-zero trials. They would find their strength not only to endure, but to one day thrive.
This is only the start of their story, but these children, their's is not unique.
People underestimate the power of a new born. The shrill cries can shake us to our planet's core.
We must let them. That they may shake us to our cores also.
And in so doing, make us remember the cry within us.
The power that it may still possess.
That we do still possess.
For we are all children.
And all children can be saviors.

Day 143

In stories there's a moment - a threshold that must be crossed, in order for our hero to begin their journey.
A door opening on a technicolor world, a rabbit hole descending into wonderland, or a call to be answered from a stranger who promises change.
This gateway isn't always so literal a formation, oftentimes it is an event, but the threshold is almost always external. Something sudden and new to shake them from their commonplace meanderings.
. . . life is not a drama.
That moment doesn't come for all of us.
"How much longer?" I hear myself ask.
When will the world force me out the door . . .
It may. It will. But when it does, I may not like the finality in the reason.
If I were writing this story - and in a way I am - I should like to write that no storm was needed to shake me free from complacency. That I found an inner wind to wrestle myself from entanglement.
That though circumstance, in part, determined this daily grind, I subject myself to it and it will not end tomorrow or the next day. Yet I will not slumber through this part.
I will be awakened within it. I will find art in repetition and let the steady rhythm fuel what comes next.
What comes next?
Well that would be telling.
The story hasn't even started yet.
Or it has, but the good part is about to start . . . I just need to write it down.

Day 148

While Audrey discovered her prowess for sports and Jeremy was finding out his knack for music, Thomas learned he could be a great comfort for those on the verge of death.

But unlike Jeremy and Audrey, Thomas would be called upon for his talents repeatedly.

While they would give way to compromise in life, office duty and familial bliss, School chum Tommy wouldn't be able to escape.

He would be called upon for his entire life, and even longer than either of theirs.

Yes, even they would need Tommy in the end. As we all will, someday.

Someone pleasant, but not invasive - empathetic without being depressing. A nonthreatening, otherworldly sort of creature, who serves to both see you off from this life and welcome you to the end.

You cannot stay, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't want to go.

Tragic for a child to be charged so young.

More so, when they discover their skills alongside someone they love.

Tommy had never seen his Father quite so content as when his son was by his side for his final breath...

Day 141

A clever plan from a clever man.
He had finally cornered his prey. The chase would end here, as desired, with his target standing on a ledge facing two choices: surrender - or die.
Clever people love to make plans.  To account for every conceivable result, direct all moving pieces to a designated end and then watch as the design is set into motion.
This was where he wanted them. Eye to eye before one of them would inevitably fall.
Yes. Event the choice provided, wasn't really a choice. Death was the only way out.
A clever plan, from a clever man.
But the problem with clever people is that when they miscalculate, the fallout is oftentimes devastating. Caution isn't required in their mind.
Caution is for the people who can't plan. They rarely, if ever, expect to be wrong. So when they are wrong,
they are not prepared.
Our clever man, certainly wasn't.
Then again, how could he be.
How does one properly prepare themselves to be eaten?

Day 147

Love is to be admired, but love's shadow is to be feared.

When you hold in your arms a fragile thing, which need only exist in order to bring you indeterminate joy.

You coo and hum and dance and act out all kinds of foolishness, just to keep the tiny creature content.

By all outward shows, you seem a tender thing. A silly thing.

A non-threatening thing . .  .

But in your heart a promise is buried. A shadow pact with the absolute worst of yourself, that can burst to full life, should the contentedness of this little sovereign be threatened.

The Gentle mother holding close her young, is a hurricane prepared to break at precise provocations.

As her love for her child grows, so too does her potential wrath, should harm come to the babe.

How terrifying the realization of love.

Day 140

I give blood.
My reasons are selfish and are listed as such:
Reason 1 - I get cookies and juice afterwards. That's good enough reason to do many things in life and offering up a vein to sharp metal is one of them.
Reason 2 - It requires zero skill or knowledge for me to do it and the list of actual things I can do for strangers is limited. So it feel good to fulfill a need and I loo for various way of self gratification to get me through any given week.
Reason 3 - Between signing in and getting jabbed, there is a final screening: they take a drop of blood.
A pin pick on the tip of my non-dominant hand's ring finger.
This will be the most anxiety I feel for the remainder of the procedure.
More than the alcohol swab in the crux of my elbow joint. More than the needle invading my flesh. Even more than watching the lifeblood flow from its natural home and go on a journey through clear tubes and end up in a sac.
That first drop is the most frightening.
I will be weighed and measured based upon the smallest part of myself; and the results will determine if my blood is worthwhile.
If I am worthwhile.
Each time I am tested and allowed to pass, I feel a little sigh of relief.
"Tricked them again" I think, before I even know I've thought it.
There really isn't anything wrong with me, besides the usual symptoms accompanying the human condition.
But I still need convincing sometimes.
So each time I give blood, I donate a little piece of doubt first.
I put it into that red droplet, used to measure my worth.
Each time I bleed for strangers, I start by donating doubt.
One day, I hope to run out of doubts to give.
I likely won't, but it's good to relieve the weight a bit.

Day 139

An April fools joke went terribly wrong!
I'd intended to create the illusion of a long lost twin, and in so doing, fell into pit of mirrors.
Not real ones, mind you. A real pit of mirrors would be both impractical and impossible to keep clean.
Reflecting on reflecting on reflecting I found myself in dizzying free fall.
I glimpsed so many versions of myself.
Exercise gurus, professors, pro wrestlers, man-bird hybrids, a politician with so many scandals and addictions I wanted to vomit - then again that may have been the vertigo.
Yet my descent was suddenly stopped by a wizard me from a dimension where everyone is a wizard - but pretends not to be for fear they they're the only ones and would become outcasts if discovered.
Suspended in mid air I was greeted by this sagely version of myself; identical to me save for him having bushier eyebrows and a stockier frame (Yes even the wizard gets more exercise than I do!).
He smiled at me with all the kindness I hope I offer others when prompted, and sent me on my way with a wave and these words:
We have nothing you need; because you have no way to give . . . move on.
Then it was April 2nd, and I felt less the fool.

Day 138

And then one day, you will catch a glimpse of something that was always there, but you never noticed.
Or maybe you noticed, but never understood. And rather than try to understand, you simply forgot.
But one day you will come to know, and then not forget, the truth regarding your life. And the lives of those around you. Your father, mother, dog, shady cousin, and favourite nephew- because let us be honest, you do have a favourite and you don't need to lie when face to face with an epiphany- all of them and you and this world and this universe with its many moving parts; have all been taking part in a grand game
A game of hide and seek.
Don't feel bad for not playing.
And no, you don't have to start playing.
You're not playing. We're not playing, the universe isn't playing.
We are simply dressing. Obstacle. Backdrop. We make the game harder for the ones who are playing.
It started nearly an eternity ago and will likely continue well into infinity.
And the players, as I understand, are having the most fun.
Now. On that one day day you realize this and are no longer able to either ignore or forget, you have a choice.
You can take in this information and choose to see it as an affirmation of your own insignificance - your struggles and triumphs being infinitesimal when compared to the intergalactic time space game played by forever children before, during, and after your lifetime . . .
Or
Find relief in the knowledge that the universe does not need you to participate in every part of its parts
Be empowered to create meaning in a universe with no agenda greater than that of a very involved children's game.
Know that you defy expectations simply by choosing to be more than a boulder to hide behind and you are bigger than eternity by being so.

I suggest the latter.
But that's for one day.
Whenever one day is . . . just try to look surprised when it comes.
Oh and April fools. (They're actually playing tag!)

Day 142

How fragile composure is.

How quickly this glass sheen cracks when provoked by an inconsiderate driver, or a delayed alarm, or by dropping your new & expensive f@&ing phone that refuses to turn on now and you don't the time or money for this!!!!

The fractures reach out, threatening to bring down the entire wall

Old insecurities and past shames start to press upon the thin membrane.

WhyamIbrokewhydidn'tIsavemorehowcouldIhavesavedmorewhydidn'tIholdonandwhydidn'tshewantmetoholdonwhydoIevencareIthoughtIvaluedmyindependenceorwasthatjustsomethingIsaidtogetovernotcaringtoomuchwhyamInotasuperheroyetwhydidn'tIworktobecomeasuperherowhydon'tIthinkIcanbecomeasuperhero!?!?

A groan from your facade precedes the inevitable shatter, and all you can think to do is shield your eyes from the oncoming shards ... but that isn't what's happening here.

Because you became an uncle that morning, and you're a little insecure.

And that's fine.

This isn't a wall of glass you're hiding behind. It's ice.  

And your heart's been sleeping under it, as of late.

You should let it break.

Because it's in the way.

Because its almost time to swim and the waters of your heart should be opened up.

They need to be explored.

Don't worry. You won't drown.