not yet

 I wonder sometimes if there are people who shed their belongings and simply find ways to wander the world. 

No ties to any nation, pedagogy or religion. 

Simply walking their way around this Earth and enjoying what it has on offer. 

It sounds utopian and dystopian. 

It sounds like an idea hatched of fantasy, and yet.  

We came from hunter gatherers. 

We lived often in migration. 

Spending summers in one local and winters in another, following resources and cycles of Earth.  

Something deep inside me has always longed to return to what is in my dna, the desire to follow the seasons, to sleep when I am tired and wake when I wake.

To follow my internal rhythms and not an external clock and calendar created by greedy men.  

This understanding that the entire thing is a house of cards and totally manufactured at the expense of every living thing also makes me wonder if exiting stage left, no bow to the audience (there never was an audience) just a silent fare thee well. Knowing that maybe next time around it will be less <this> waves hands around.  

 there has to be something...

screaming to be heard

I once screamed into the void  to save me from myself

Marriage family

lost childhood 

white dress death

Fall in love 

a happy ever after

Run wild ride a horse.

Become a great artist 

make beautiful things

Deja vu in a small town

Over and over 

nothing changes 

decomposition 

Idyllic decay

Toxic patriotism 

False history

Fame by name

Lost it all

Made mistakes

I once screamed into the void  to save me from myself 

spring a masterpiece

when spring has sprung and winter is done there comes this strange sadness.

like losing a friend putting them aside, as the next one blossoms before me.

there is a ghost like quality to the changes of seasons. when i sit with them i feel the movement of the universe, time stands still and hurtles forward.  

these moments flash before my eyes. 

don't blink

don't blink

what comes next is still a mystery even after 56 springs have sprung.

i savor and enjoy every single one.

 

It was never about you.

 Somewhere along the winding trail of my life I realized my life was about me and your life was about you, and sometimes our lives bump into each other for a moment or a millennia.

Everywhere she goes the wind blows

She is the butterfly

Unfurling her wings 

Creating her own theory of existence

As they stood looking in the mirror watching themselves fade into the ether. 

They asked themselves, was it worth it? 

Was life on earth as you had hoped? 

Did you learn your lesson?  

Knowing there is nothing that comes after did you live well?

Shit

What lingers

Lets start at the ending. 

I walked toward home, the air growing thicker and as I turned down the street to my apartment. A moment I wanted to capture panned out before me. As always I stopped in the T of the road and was aligning my view. It was at that moment standing there in the middle of an empty road I heard a train and felt an impact. It all happened in a split second as a thought passing through my mind.  Somewhere in space I had just been struck down while taking a picture. The shutter clicks and a breeze again swept my hair.

The ground neatly swept. A conversation beginning or ending, leaving what was said hanging in the air. A contemplative breeze brushed by as I stood eavesdropping on shadows, a conversation unfolding.

 The shadows were good today. I found myself on a path winding through burial grounds sounds of birds joyfully leading the way. Beckoning and cautioning at my progress on a trail like a serpent moving in and around obstacles. Communing with nature now and then a breeze touches my face. 

A bitter nostalgia

 

A bitter nostalgia 

An imagined past

A future contrived of past imaginings and bitter nostalgia for a childhood that  existed only in the scripts of sitcoms absorbed by the masses. 

Televisions lighting the windows as evening closes in on unsuspecting beings force fed a diet of regurgitated beliefs sent through a tube and thrust out of a box. Casting a sickly light on the faces of youth, false promises and  fake news. 

Scaring into complacency,
scarring them through the trauma of being an american through no fault of their own.  

Cast upon the world like a ragged net hoping to catch fish only capturing the trash of those who raised them.  

standing in a swamp of discarded hopes and dreams, with the rains of rhetoric pounding down like a stormy night sky heavy with the weight of ozone. 

The smell of grief for a life never lived and a past only imagined.  Bitter nostalgia.

I am not made for winter

 I always felt like winter looked nice on postcards and in books. But in real life winter has been horrible to me my entire life. I seem to always feel bad, get injured, get sick, or experience huge disasters in winter. 

Which is strange I am born of winter.

Another winter is upon me and the dry cold dusty air has already sent me to the doctors once. I just finished a round of treating a sinus infection to have it come raging back as soon as the pills were out of my system. 

Hot summers seemed bad but this past summer was hot and humid and my sinuses flourished, no stuffy nose, no constant pain, no stuffy ears. In fact I don't think I used more than a quarter thing of tissues from June until November. I have gone through 2 boxes in 10 days. 

I just want to feel good enough to walk to work, or go for a walk. I am not asking for perfect health just relief from feeling like I can never catch my breath.

I don't want more diagnoses so being told my septum is a deviant and could be fixed with surgery wasn't great news. I had surgery on my wrist and that has lead to I probably need surgery on both shoulders now. One hip is very painful my hyper mobile side of my body. Turns out all these years I thought I was inflexible but I actually had hypermobile joints in my left hip and both shoulders. I have an unknown autoimmune disorder, I have adhd which may be the link to many of my health complaints, I probably have POTS but I have been fainting my entire life and just am used to it at this point.

Learning in your 50's that you have a mess of conditions that all should have lead to having support and knowing many of my struggles were real and I was dismissed has been its own trauma. So I wont ever become a great content creator, or a famous artist, or any of that because my body and mind work against me and some months and seasons of my life are all about simply living to the next season and hoping for the better.