And the devil will paint his words
in the style of a Da Vinci canvas.

We always talks about putting our broken pieces back together
Or we speak of mending another with tape and glue
Like stitches that won't undo
But putting the pieces back together wont make them new
Why don't we ever think about picking up each others broken parts
And placing them where ours once were
Instead of fixing a puzzle with missing pieces
Why don't we become art
And fill each other with beautiful parts?

All that you find broken about yourself
All that I find rotten within my hollow shell
Are colorful pieces to complete a work of art
If you take some of me and make it beautiful
Then perhaps one day I too could see the beauty I betray
I'll do the same for you as I collect these magnificent additions
To the masterpiece that I make of myself
One day we will become Mona Lisa and The Starry Night
Not only will we be the art we will become the artists
As grand as DaVinci, as unique as Van Gogh
We will fill this world with our broken art
And make others learn that there is beauty in every splintered part

The complexity of coupling is an exponential increase.
No matter how perturbed life may be, we strive to linearize it,
thank you Laplace. You transform us.

It is integral to simplify life.
Like Da Vinci, Like Thoreau:
“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication”
“Our life is frittered away by detail…simplify, simplify”

Let us not differentiate between the good or the bad
                         the high or the low.
Life is too brief to quantify, qualify, and compare it to others.
It is yours alone. Embrace the change over time.

I have been learning how to die,
have prepared myself at every
intersection or doctor's office,
have been whispering
Good Bye
like last words,
every time.

I have been learning how to be a corpse,
have been rotting from the
inside out,
have been peeling away the decaying flesh
beside my fingernails,
on the inside of my lip,
around the wounds that I know will never get the chance to heal now.

I have been learning how to be a skeleton,
have been leaving empty spaces
between ribs
and
vertebrae,
have been training myself to lie still
in small, dark places.

I have been learning how to be a ghost,
have haunted my own
home,
have found solace
in inhabiting this body
that I claim to belong in,
I have been learning how to regret.

I write my words
to paint a picture,
one of hope,
of love.

I’d awaken passion,
if only I could.
We could walk on beaches,
listen to ocean’s roar,
dedicating that moment
to the rest of our lives.

I’d dry your tears,
write your pain,
your suffering
into the depths
of the sea.

My pen draws pictures
of swirling lines,
surrounding us,
holding us close
in each other’s arms.

I pray my inkwell
never runs dry,
my quill flying across
pages of love.

I pray my words
comfort you,
warm you
and fill you
with pictures of us.
Together always.

Today’s lesson on the pad

Showing a new guy how to stake grades

So we paced out a grid and pounded in stakes at semi-even intervals

Always picking up where someone else left off

Using their existing grid, we paced ~16 m in Northing (a metre is approximately equal to a yard)

Again, using the existing grid, we paced ~13 m in Easting

Then I asked him to pace out the hypotenuse, it was ~21 m

The grid was for the most part at right angles to each other

To show the new guy how Pythagoras came to his theorem

I scratched a triangle in the crushed aggregate

On the side of the x-plane I scratched 16 m and on the side of the y-plane I scratched 13 m

The diagonal received a 21 m

Out came the notebook

16 squared plus 13 squared = ~21 squared

Using my iPhone calculator

256 plus 169 = ~21 squared
425 = ~21 squared
square root of 425 = ~20.6155281280883 or ~21

Then I grabbed my stick to scratch out a head, body, appendages, and finally a circle encompassing my proto-Vitruvian dude

Never thought work could be this fun!