#scarcity
Make, from your hand,
a bowl. I'll give you
the sweetest treasure,
so precious and important.
This, little child, is
the essence of life.
You will perish without this.
Don't let it leak
between your fingers:
every droplet that leaks
is a droplet you have lost
to the heat and sun
of the inclement desert.
You think it's too little?
You think it's not enough?
A diamond weighs
more than this,
yet this is better.
You must take it, little child—
the clouds have bestowed us
with this wondrous substance,
and the burning sand
has let us keep it.
It is not too little,
and it is indeed enough—
more than any of us deserves,
and you'll never see so much
together
ever again.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 10:07 AM UTC
The evenings settled around me like a quiet animal.
Patient.
Unblinking.
Waiting for me to name what I carried every day
but refused to do so.
A whole landscape inside it.
A place that breathed in long, slow vowels.
A place with dust that remembered footsteps,
and plants that stood like quiet sentinels.
The first place that taught me how silence grows,
not as an absence,
but as a field full of trees,
with leaves catching the sun like open hands.
A place that held every story without ever interrupting them.
And I learned to walk lightly,
so I wouldn’t disturb its patience.
That was my place: Los Magueyes.
Los Magueyes kept its own calendar:
mornings measured in the slow tweeting
of those multicolor birds over the bent branches of the trees.
Afternoons with its stubborn heat,
where the sunlight almost burned the flesh.
The nights in the hush
that made every footstep sound like a confession.
The voices of those children like sudden storms of laughter.
Then long clearings of quiet, where names were kept like seeds.
My feet learned the geometry of the place,
which I still keep
stuck in my memories
like a blind person
who knows his path very well.
Stones, dust, and mud during those cruel rainy winters.
The narrow alley
that led to my so-called house.
My memories of Los Magueyes are not photographs,
but muscles, sounds, a good taste,
a particular tilt of light that makes the past move
with the same weight as the present.
Small rituals:
neighbors sweeping at dusk
until the ground revealed its cracks.
The old radio humming a hymn of static and songs.
A single afternoon could hold a dozen goodbyes.
And a single goodbye could stretch into a year.
When I speak of Los Magueyes now,
I am speaking of a place that taught me how to keep feelings:
grief, joy, sadness,
and the ordinary folded and ready,
like the cloth in a drawer.
A place without maguey,
though its name carried the weight of remembrances.
The air was stitched with the smell of lime
and wet earth after rain.
Children learned to chase shadows across the barbed wire fences.
And silence grew not from leaves,
but from the pauses between voices,
the way a courtyard can hold its breath when dusk arrives.
Struggling to gather the basics.
Coins counted twice.
Meals stretched thin.
Yet childhood carried its own abundance.
Friends who lived in houses with sturdier walls,
with tables that never seemed empty,
offered me laughter,
a hand to hold,
a promise that I was not alone.
Their friendship became the wealth I could not measure.
And even now,
when years have carried us far from those streets,
their voices remain
like pillars holding up the roof of my life.
And still,
in the quiet corners of those days,
I carried illusions like secret lanterns.
I imagined myself stepping out
beyond those cracked and dusty roads,
beyond the hunger that pressed against my ribs,
into a future where my name might carry weight,
where my words might matter.
It seemed impossible by then
like trying to catch the wind in my hands.
But I held the dream anyway,
fragile and glowing.
Each night I rehearsed it in silence,
as if the stars above Los Magueyes were listening,
as if they might one day guide me out.
And somehow,
through years of stumbling and persistence,
the illusion became truth.
I became someone after all.
Not because I left the place behind,
but by carrying its dust and its friendships into every step forward.
Proof that even the poorest soil can grow a life that blooms.
Dec 26, 2025
Dec 26, 2025 at 9:56 PM UTC
We reach for the last slice.
Fingers touch and eyes lock.
In a world with enough scarcity
In it, I've had my fill.
I've eaten until my heart's content and offer you the last slice.
It was yours from the beginning.
There was never anything to ask.
Before the dough was baked, before
the free pieces of sausage and
pepperoni rattle around the box.
There are certain things in life that we cannot hide.
Undeniable flavors that coax our tongue.
So take the last slice
and enjoy the last bite.
This is a hunger that goes beyond the physical.
Everytime I kiss you.
I'll remember how my tongue rattles
Around your mouth, the same way
Jul 10, 2024
Jul 10, 2024 at 4:52 PM UTC
Hundreds of items have been used
For money over the course of history.
Yet they cease being money when
They cease being scarce, through
New technology, along with greed.
No tangible item has true scarcity
Therefore
What we need is digital scarcity.
Digital content is usually easy to
Replicate and therefore not scarce.
So we need a system that is digital
Yet also perfectly limited in supply
Bitcoin’s the digital scarce solution
Apr 23, 2024
Apr 23, 2024 at 9:10 AM UTC
My economics textbook says
resources, products, services are scarce
and should be distributed by market-relations:
those who can afford to pay money
get the resources, products, services
and those who cannot afford to pay money
do not get the resources, products, services;
But I think
my economics textbook
has a scarcity-mentality
which looks only to the short-term;
I think
the human aspiration
should be
over the longer-term
to strive with optimism to achieve
an abundance
of resources, products, services
distributed by market-relations and by any way
so that every person
can get enough to be happy.
Nov 1, 2021
Nov 1, 2021 at 11:30 AM UTC
Don’t brag about your good fortune in bad weather
unless you’re ready to hear how theirs is better
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 11:43 AM UTC
The last time I was sick
throwing up pints of ick
not once did I think of love
or anything above
that porcelain refuge
the object of my deluge.
Being sick focuses the brain
on the body’s strain
chains freedom to pity
makes one feel so bitty
all you can see is the floor to the ***
hoping you’ll be in time to squat.
Next morning when I hope it’s passed
questions arise in me to ask
what if this pause in my health
is no pause but a demise of the wealth
I’ve so long taken for granted
and I’ll be forever stuck and disenchanted.
Scarcity focuses the brain
like drought makes you ache for rain
or poverty narrows your sight
to the very next meal or bite
what you don’t have in hand
makes you do anything you can
makes you shout and sing
for that longed-for thing
you look hither and yon
for what seems so far gone.
Then you must work on relearning
to let go of sick yearning.
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
Just wanted to go someplace where no one knows my name. I wanna go there alone but not lonely.
Why do I feel so lonely sometimes Even when surrounded by a lot of people?
Why cant this feeling of Emptiness just go away?
Let me forget Everything, the things I know , My Identity, all the problems , and Unwind from it completely.
Help Me Unravel My whole life to find My true self.
Grant My Mind Tranquility amidst everything that's going on in my life.
Make me see my problems as a new Opportunity.
Make me Become useful to my family and not a Hindrance
Help us become prosperous someday, so that my family wont need to face more hardships in life
Give them profusion not scarcity.
Sometimes I envy those who have overabundance in everything, I encourage myself not to but just cant help it sometimes.
I don't fear death I only fear what it prologues.
Why did i write ?
I don't do it for people to think and assume that I'm smart
Just wanted to say how I really feel deep Inside.
I'm not smart. nope. never in my life.
Never Earned any medals at all.
There's a lot of things I don't Know and still want to learn.
As what Socrates once said,
"I know One thing , That I know nothing"
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
Breaking hearts with thoughts of people
Crying out for water
Thirst has dared them to commit crimes
While we flush litres
All the news we see isn't all there is
Many left unnoticed, undiscovered
Craving for a single drop of liquid
While some plan wars on regions
Did you let the human out of your soul?
Do you dare to help the needy instead?
Dare to ignore the profits off of wars fought?
Dungeons dwell on people like you
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
Last drop of water,
Quivers"Sorry"at the faucet,
It's my turn to fret.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
Under the street light
Staring at the dust bin
Let the dogs get away
With all the meat left
I'm hungry, thirsty
No droplet of water
Found clean anywhere
Am I the only one?
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC