Untitled 22

I truly enjoy existing. Not that these words or any to come can convey the feel of that statement. They cannot. Nevertheless, I feel I ought to and want to attempt to express. I think and feel that is my responsibility in my existence. (See, Grandpa, I am taking care of my responsibilities.)

"You can't just travel. You can't just read and write."
"What? Why not? That's all I want to do!"
"Because you have responsibilities!"

Touche. Got it now. Thankfully my new lifestyle allows me to seamlessly handle the very serious responsibilities and do what I love.

The rattle of the glass table is what I noticed after writing the blurb above. I hadn't consciously given it attention while writing. Now I noticed it.

The sound of real. Dit. ditditditditditditditditdddddit. dit. dit. dit. Rattle on HUMAN BEING that is me? Eat some cheeeeese. It's smooth and tastes goooood.

To be alive. Or living. Meh. Words. The real failures.

Whe I Feeling fully alive and living. Right in the moment. These moments strike me. They hit me. It feels that way, anyway. They shake me from complacency. From It's like coming back from another planet. Fuck! Where was I and how did I get there? Dudn't matter. I'm here Now. Scrawling pen and ink. Beautiful moment. s.

Who is this for anyways?
                         No one. They ain't here!              Here.
       Or here.            

And you're not there.


Wherever "there" is. If you are, then you get this!




I chew the cheese and listen, intently, to the sounds my jaw pushing my teeth together into the cheese mushing the cheese into saliva-infused digestible chunks makes. The sound that makes. That sound this creaturely, perfectly natural process makes. The sound it makes. LIFE. living. Here. Now. Chewing Cheese.



                                                      Where are You?