a friend once told me that I talk too much. always click the 'get directions' button in cases where I'm completely unsure of the water beneath my feet and wait for the next exit to bring me to wherever I've decided home is going to be for the next moment in space-time. I glare at the flashes of sparkling light in the sky and wonder why I haven't thought of this more-- why I haven't placed myself above the pain inside my lackluster lungs and questioned every spoken pettiness for its lack of asking directions. not all those who wander are lost, and not all those who are lost, wander. it's just hard to tell whose who when we're all blind marbles rolling across a flat board-game edition of the earth, bouncing off one another and forever altering the confused matrix of life with our verbal skirmishes of love and hate, *** and war. all the lines blur and static white-noise gives me a chance to listen to our origin on reality TV as I wait and wait for the next notch in the stairs toward the door. I wish I was rich in spirit, and poor in mind.. alas, I'm poor in spirit and rich in mind when I actually find it in myself not to drop it like a heavy treasure chest full of sweet and sour nothings I could use for little more than bragging rights-- "everybody, look what I found!"

sitting on the number 6 bus toward work the other day I had the panicked thought of children-- "will I ever be a father? am I sure I want to live long enough to try?" I've always dreamed of eventually settling with kids, a life-partner, and a modest home in a quiet whereverthehellwefeellike.. books tower on every wall and beg the question to be asked and it's all a joyful redundancy if you realize it only results in more questions, and that's okay. I'd read Alan Watts to my kids and show them how we are all just God playing hide-and-seek.