This country of beauty and madness as an old ditty from ze '80s goes. Or Beauty and the Bus, like a faerie tale gone wrong. Oh.

I've always imagined flowers to be smart.

While squandering a good chunk of lunchbreak reading and smoking, I realized how escape is impossible without something to escape from. For this, I am grateful for work. For this I am grateful for this world that allows us to imagine rocketships and time machines and parallel possibilities and multiverses and manholes and secret doors.

To Thursday

You are happening
and hip almost

weekend almost
swaggering out

of here now you

a loose leaf, given to flight with the slightest of the wind's provocations

The Possible Tree

Swallowing a santol seed, I turned to my grandfather and asked
if I would die. He laughed and said darling, santol does not kill.

It only grows into a tree with branches as thick as these –
he flexed his farmer’s arms for emphasis – sprouting out

of your ears. Now whenever words escape me or a song
bursts into a quiet chorus, a furtive finger finds its way

into both canals, checking for leaves. I wait for the world to grow
still. Long after discovering science and frailty, some of us continue

with the story and find out that every event leads to silence, all music
aspires for silence, the interior of sound is silence, already silence

is within us silent and unseen, there is a silence waiting
in an abandoned house in the field, in the shaking walls of the heart.

Back to the Future!

If the devil is 6 then God is 7 / This monkey's gone to heaven
- Pixies

7 months and a job and a lifetime later, I find myself back. Just like that, like the prodigal son or the alcoholic dad come home or that dude from The Beach civilized and clean again in the city or Lazarus come back from the dead.

I can't quit this life/style just yet. So Jesus and Satan will have to bid some more.