Used

I used to think having nothing else to offer the world was a negative, depressing thing.

Then, recently, I realised that the whole point of living is giving until you have nothing else to offer the world.

Now I am in my happy place, all given out, living simply, simply living!

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Smokers patio

Sunday evening meditation midst the swirls and curls of burning fags, bearded men smoking ciggies, checking mobiles for messages ’bout their social standing, drinking booze with babes, the air electrified with lightning nearby.

What day this has been, my friends, when you’re awarded for your hard work, and I am handed the reins of a quiet life with which I choose to treat my friends and family to the wellspring of love within I’ve hidden for too long?!

Why hide that treasure trove from You?

Why deny one’s gift, one’s destiny?

Nothing left to fear.

Life is short.

Although but sets of states of energy in motion, how those states interact say everything these words merely skim the surface describing!

To say I love you has never been enough.

To show I love you by giving my love to everyone we know and to those we’ll never meet…well, the pipe smoker next to me, a wise old blues musician, understands.

You and I are performers, to the core.

Our performance is an act of love, unselfish, in service to others, sometimes sacrificing our mental (thus, our phyical) health until we paid attention, putting our love for each other to practical use.

Look at the result!

Years hiding love we cannot recover.

Let’s wisely share our remaining years with unfettered love.

The solar system brought us this far.

Carpark contentment

In this moment of quiet contentment whilst walking the upper carpark at work I realise I am in the most calm condition of my life.

I have achieved the truest state of the monkhood I sought long ago.

At almost 3:30 a.m., when the freeway traffic is at a minimum, sounding like ocean waves just over a sand dune, the cicadas and crickets dominate.

My thought set requires no external validation, the same every year at this time.

I know a few friends whom I will recognise on social media for their positive influence on me.

Other than that, my conscious self remains at rest.

Ahhh..

Summertime!

Japanese garden bridge in the rain

A person on social media asked which the reader thought worse, emotional pain or physical pain?

Of course, they’re one in the same.

Emotions are not aether, miasma, or entities separate from the body.

Therefore, the question reworded: what type of physical pain do you least like to endure?

Sleep-derived tiredness is my least liked pain.

I don’t know what emotions are but I do know that personal relationship disconnectedness reduces my ability to fall asleeep quickly, same with misaligned body parts.

Sleepiness prevents fully living in the ever-changing moment, causes poor decision-making, affecting moments not yet lived.

What, then, my friend, is Love?

Love, like everything else, is physical, measurable, describable, with experimental results providing a method to create corrective actions.

Mourning glory

Foggy soggy doggy morning on the mountain whilst delivering packed red blood cells, transferring them from one hospital to another earlier today.

Back in the Sunny Street Cafe with the gray/white-haired crowd, hearing the laughter of children, the vibratory puffs of air we call voices adding to a random spoken poem or prose song by all ages.

It’s just me here, the random set of states of energy, a result of billions of years of energy states reacting to one another.

It’s just me here, wondering what to do next.

It’s just me here, no superpowers, no vast wealth at my disposal, just a friendly smile to create out of this set of states of energy to warmly greet other such sets which can interpret the smile in such a way that it prevents significant damage to my set.

It’s just me here, as it’s always been, figuring out what to do before I die of natural causes or other mishaps out of my control.

I fall back in my thoughts to my late high school years when I overheard two girls talk about me.

One: “So, are you going to try to get alone with Lee on the band trip?”

Two: “Not this time.”

One: “Why not? He’s cute. You know such-and-such wants to be alone with him, too.”

Two: “Well, she can go ahead. He wouldn’t know what to do if you were alone with him naked and he had an instruction manual.”

From then on, it was a challenge within a small group of girls to try to get me to make out with them.

Little did they know that when I was 16 I’d already gone all the way with a girl and separately with a guy, finding the experience thrilling in the discovery stage but ultimately disappointing. 

From then on I thrilled only in the chase, walking away when I got bored chasing or the person I chased wanted me to catch her.

Thus it is that I enjoy dancing, a more elegant and fun form of the chase.

I still don’t know what to do when I’m alone with a woman other than converse politely.

If I don’t dance, I write.

It’s just me here, after all, unable to support myself on my own, a taxi dancer on permanent retainer by my handler, a/k/a my lifelong friend socially labeled my wife, who reluctantly loans me out without complaining about my prolonged absence.

It’s just me here, wallowing in the mud of mediocrity, waiting to die, sticking his head up to smell the fresh breeze of those frolicking in nearby open pastures, dreaming I could be a horse instead of a hog.

Time to work on my dream writer’s cottage, where I can hide when I’m not working.

Summertime

Summertime, what is summertime, when you’ve lived a good long life, felt thousands of generations of your species pass through you, when you feel old beyond your years, only energised when your marionette/puppet self is picked up and played with by others?

What is summertime when you work the midnight shift, sleeping all day, the weather a matte background on the stage of life?

What is summertime when you’re standing in awe outside a batcave whilst thousands of flying mammals exit the cave and a mother next to you chats on her smartphone complaining about her life to a friend, simultaneously yelling at her kids to be careful, caring nothing about the swirl of bats heading toward open waters?

Her reality is not my reality, our view of summertime completely different.

I avoid others when I’m unhappy and unable to pretend to be happy without the aid of alcoholic beverages.

I know that being the life of the party costs my mental health when I’m alone again, aware of the shakes and shivers of stage fright taking its toll on my wellbeing after entertaining others, my puppet strings slack.