As we grow old
Our hope wanes
And we attempt to birth
What we ourselves
Failed to become
August 17, 2021 at 11:54AM
Category: Thyme
Summer
Summer
Used to mean something
When we got off school
Now
It’s just the hottest
Of the seasons
And we work
Right on through
Sweating
August 10, 2021 at 02:42PM
Getting old
Is seeing young people
And discerning them
As different
Than yourself
August 08, 2021 at 04:28PM
Now
A moment
Which was in the future
In the past
Is now
Now
I am not surprised
I knew
This was coming
But it’s still
Surreal
To see the bones
Of an imagining
Dressed
In the flesh
Of reality
July 10, 2021 at 06:09AM
Young and old
The older people
Joined our dinner party of five
To make it eight
And after
The introductions
And the small talk
To figure out
Whether we had anything in common
And if not
If we could at least get along
The old people
After so many drinks
Started to thirst for more
For the youth
And us young
Started to want for some things
Too
That the old people had
Like money
And power and respect
So we sat there together with our drinks
Half drunk
And our empty plates
And sucked off each other
Originally written: Friday, May 28, 2021, 9:48 PM
Afternoon
Is it even
Noon yet
Our brunch
Started
At eleven
And we must have
Spent more than
An hour there
So it must be
After
Noon
Now
May 30, 2021 at 12:24PM
A still moment
In the middle of my exercises, in plank pose, I notice there are no noises and no movements around me. In an uncanny moment, it feels as if time has stopped. It occurs to me that if I could check my watch face, then I could see if it were really true. But the face of my watch on my wrist just so happens to be pointed away from my field of vision. I cannot move my wrist or my eyes, because doing so would ruin the still moment. It is a conundrum. I cannot confirm for sure that time has stopped.
Originally written on: August 27, 2020
In the dark
I have not been up early or late enough lately. Only awake for the day, when it is light, and the whole rest of the world is awake with me, telling me what to do. It is in the dark where I used to find space to stretch out, but since setting my morning alarm, and getting to bed early enough to get a full eight hours, I have spent less time in the dark. That is where I used to find my inspiration. The dark is chaotic, but it is also creative and full of mysterious possibility. Whereas the light is clear for all to see—the title on your desk placard, the name on your name tag, the features of your face, the messiness of your apartment, the trash on the sidewalk—it can all be seen, accounted for, and set about the business of the day. But at night, all bets are off. God knows what people are doing. They should be asleep, and if not, then what? Where is the traffic cop to tell the hoodlums not to cross the road when the light is red? But there are no cars. Where is your boss to tell you to be at your desk during work hours? But the lights in the office are off and nobody is there. Where is the sun to say the day has started and it is time for you to be awake? But I am already awake, sun, I have beaten you to it. And the moon has told me what you would not. I will return in time, and when I do, I’ll have something new to show your day.
Things my kids may not know
When someone takes change out of their pocket to pay for something, similar to someone smoking a cigarette—even more so if they carry their own pouch and rolling papers.
When someone wears a watch to tell the time, and when asked, they will either show you their wrist, or look at it themselves and tell you out loud.
When someone writes in their own handwriting with pen and ink and paper, especially when they are writing in their own journal or meaning to mail a letter.
When someone carries a paper book in their back pocket to sit on a bench somewhere and read.
When someone sits alone and thinks and does nothing else for a while.
When someone swings an ax to split firewood that will be used to burn and keep warm.
When someone breathes outdoors during the winter time and their breath turns to vapor.
When an older relative knits or sews clothing for the family.
When someone wakes up with the sun’s rising and goes to sleep with the sun’s setting.
When someone reads the newspaper at a coffee shop or listens to the radio in the car.
When someone wears a belt for its purpose and not just fashion.
When someone tells stories from memory, especially to their kids at night.
When someone walks to get somewhere and knows the way.
Here now
I have this habit of thinking forward, forward, forward. Until I retrace my steps and think, it will have already started at this point, and this point—earlier and earlier, until I reach the present moment. Then I realize, it has already started, presently. I am living, now. All that I seek in the future—joy, entertainment, wealth, love. It is all, to some degree, here with me now. Possibly, it is in a form that I have more difficulty recognizing.
A moment
The hot sun on the back porch
Bakes into bare legs crossed over
Eyes closed, head leaning back
Exhale
Here is where
Here is where I’ve needed to come
To this moment exactly, I mean
More so than a place
More so a space in time
A moment
Growing old
For me, it was sudden. One day, you’re young and pushing the limits, and the next, your back hurts and you’re trying to keep your job. I don’t think it was actually sudden. Looking back now, it seems to have happened over time. First, you’re so young that you don’t know what it means to be young. Then, around the time you start to rebel against your parents, then you’re young and you know it. Finally, five or ten years further down the road (even later for some), you start to understand what your parents were talking about—this is the mind growing old. The nail in your no-longer-too-distant coffin is when your body starts to ache. That’s when it all really slows down. You can’t drink like you used to. You’re less confident you would win a fight. If you need to bend over to pick something up or put on your socks, you have to do it real slow to avoid hurting yourself. From this point on, there is a certain amount of deliberation that goes into every one of your physical actions, which causes you to think twice before listening to what your raging free spirit is telling you to do. It is scary, seeing death as near as you ever have, and growing nearer all the while. But it is the way of things, and a lot more makes sense now.
Worrying about the future
I start to think about dinner
When I’m still eating lunch
I start to plan for tomorrow
When I’ve still got today
I start to worry
Farther and farther
Into the future
About what may never come
I start and never finish
Because I’m always worried
About the next thing
And the next
Nevermind now, I say
Look at what’ll happen then!
Morning
A bird chirps
Through the window crack
In the morning
Car wheels
Roll to a stop
At the light outside
Baby breathes
A deep waking sigh
With one eye open
I stretch and roll over
Before the alarm
I know is coming
Now
Don’t look forward
Look right here
There is nothing for you
Beyond this moment
Nothing more
This is it
The source of your troubles
And longing
And lamenting
Is all in the future
Causing you to think
There is more then
That is not now
The future
Makes you feel
Like you’re missing something
You must be
If there is more to come
Then you were missing it before
You must have been
But don’t be worried
Don’t let the future trick you
Focus here and now
Start with the senses
What do you see
What do you hear
What do you feel
Focus all of your attention
On the senses
What picture of the present
Are they painting for you
What song of the present
Are they singing
Your senses of the present
Are gold
Compared to copper imagination
Of any future
Not yet come to pass
For the body
But only for the mind
As some figment
Focus here
Breathe it in
Do not worry
Let go of the need to plan
To prepare
The future is now
It is part of the nature of now
To become the future
So if you want to prepare
Focus here
Now
In a moment, there is nothing you need. It is only over time, that needs arise. It is impossible to be hungry, for example, in a moment. It is impossible to be tired. It is only a period of time that makes it possible to become hungry or tired.
These needs keep you from peace. They fill your mind with motivation for action. They tell you it is time to go and have something to eat. It is time to lay down and have a nap.
To fend off each of these needs would be like pulling leaves from a large tree. To pull up the tree all at once by its trunk, you need only to forget the passage of time.
There is nothing to need if there is nothing to come. There is nothing to need if there is only now.
present
All my life
Has led me here
To this point
For which
All my past
Has prepared me
—On and on
Over and over
This continues
For every
Present moment
night time
Something clicks
In the night
Unnatural, interrupting
A sweet lullaby
Of silent sounds
A flash
From the bus claws
Catching on electric wires
Outside the window
I check the time
And realize
It is almost the hour
When the mechanical city
Will start its day
And this click and flash
Were the early signs
That I’ll have to wait
For another sun’s passing
For the peace and quiet
Of non-mechanical
Night time
in time to die
At this rate
I measure
I’ll learn
To live
In time
To die
age
Climbing stairs
In socks
My toes crack
And knees pop
Like a band
Playing a song
Called age
keep on
I start to feel
That I should stop
That the train
Has too much steam
That the snowball
Rolling downhill
Has gained too much mass
Or that I should at least
Slow down some
—But I’ve realized
The only way to slow
Is to stop
And the only way to stop
Is to end
And if I choose to end
At this age
I fear I’ll never
Begin again;
So I keep on
time
Whole hours pass
Unnoticed
When I pay attention
To anything other
Than time itself
fields of time
Perhaps perilous
Would pause be
For a picker
In the field of time
With only
A moment’s harvest
And drought
For a hundred years
Thereafter
hopes of spring
Outside our window
Stretch branches
Bare for months
When we too
Under duress of winter
Couldn’t stand
To sustain much more
Than ourselves
Now blossoming
Bits of green granting
To my bed laying head
Hopes of spring
To get out again
And grow strong
pass faster
It’s hard to write
so short-sighted
trying to survive
seeing only as far
as my next meal
or night’s sleep knowing
this too shall pass
as all that has before
but wanting it to pass faster
like the impatient child
I’ve always been
Travel on
O’er in my memory
My mind has run
The now worn path
Of fine times past, indeed
So of this place
Where I’ve long stayed
As with all things
Which do arrive
Doth finally come
This time now
To take my somber leave
A thousand ways
In my old age
I’ve lived my younger days
If you could only
Promise me
One last thing
Before I go
To have as much
In memory, your own
When time for you
Doth come as well
To travel on
Waiting for the bus
I check the time
At which the bus
Is supposed to arrive
And realize
That I have ten minutes
Left to kill
So I start to go about
Distracting myself
Stretching
Looking up
At the building tops
And people watching
Strangers
Until I run out
Of distractions
And venture a glance
At my watch
To find
I’ve only passed
Three of the ten
Counting seconds
Seeing as a second
Wasn’t long enough
Stretching now
For two or three
So time feels spent
Sufficiently
Whereas waiting
Wouldn’t do it
Doing had to be
Seeing newness
Touching other
Change it had to be
To feel alive
Past idle nigh
Now counting
One, two, three
Age as motivation
I see age, and it makes me want to live faster. I see an old man with long white hair in the coffee shop. He walks with a cane and holds onto the counter. It seems like he has trouble seeing too. I wonder what it would be like to lose my own sight. I think of all the things I could no longer do. I must do them now! Quick, before it’s too late. Run! Get up. What are you doing sitting down in a coffee shop? You must use your youthful abilities while you still can.
Watch man
Whereas I once
Would have rather
Left it at home
Preferring to be a boy
Ignorant of that number
To which the hand points;
I have since become
A watched man
Watching all the time
Sunday nap
I wake up
From a Sunday nap
At 6:49
And for a second
Am not sure
If it is night still
With the drapes drawn
Or morning
I ask the clock
But he will not say
AM or PM
I draw the drapes
And the amount of cars
Looks like
It could be either
Like a skier
In an avalanche
Supposed to spit
To find
Which way is up
I am unsure
afraid to die
I’m most afraid to die when I feel most alive. And I feel young and full of energy, like all of life is ahead of me, then I am afraid for it to end. When I am closer to death, sick or feeling old and spent, then I am less afraid. Sometimes I am in pain and the pain of death seems like it would be lesser than what I am experiencing. I feel that I have less to lose. The fall would not be as great from an already low state, whereas when I am up high it would be a long way down.
a poem that rhymes
a little late up at night feeling light and lifted dreaming dreams of prior scenes i didn’t know existed hoping though that see and sew sad stories still be told since dreams of life from younger years now fearing to get old
getting older
on a stool at the coffee shop
sharing a wooden table
with an older man
next to me
drumming my fingers
and bobbing my head to music
he glances sideways
disapprovingly
he cannot take away
my energy
other than
by my becoming
him someday
microwave
watching
the microwave
count down
in neon green
analog numbers
the space in time
between seconds
seems longer
waiting
for my coffee
to warm up
trash truck alarm
the trash truck
creaks and rumbles
as it arrives
curbside
in the early morning
around five
waking me up
to the fact
that the day outside
has started
bouncing
young
you bounce
from thing
to thing
like a pinball
bouncing
in between
believing
it must be this
no, then this
bouncing
back and forth
until old
realizing
it is none of it;
but rather,
something learned
from the bouncing
in between
when it’s real
let it be there
push it as you will
into was
but let it be
short of memory
presently perceived
even then
when is it real
synapses firing
when is it real
i wonder
what makes it
what we’re after
what substitute
will suffice
like a dream
or a drug
lying to oneself
going insane
are just as well
in some cases
who’s to say
otherwise
supplanting
their reality
for another’s
who’s to say
when it’s real
ten minutes
ten minutes
seems like
an eternity
drinking coffee
and listening
to trance
reading
getting lost
checking my watch
to see
when i should
leave
for work
realizing then
it’s only been
ten minutes
bare wrist
pushing up
my sleeve cuff
to check the time
only to find
a bare wrist
telling me nothing
realizing both
that i forgot to wear
my watch today
and i didn’t really
need to know
the time anyway
going back
to what i was doing before
thinking i might
leave my watch at home
more often
i wonder if
i wonder if
feeling is the same
as being felt
i wonder if
movie actors have time
to be themselves
i wonder if
those who run the world
know that they do
i wonder if
work will go by
fast or slow
i wonder if
our landlord will finally
fix our fridge today
i wonder if
baby
really loves me
i wonder if
the company
will make it
i wonder if
my brother
will be alright
i wonder if
sleeping with baby
makes my back
better or worse
i wonder if
or when
my body will start to fail
like my dad’s
i wonder if
my dad was like me
when he was young
i wonder if
my mom
still has hope
i wonder if
i’m doing the right thing
i wonder if
i’ll feel the same way
when i’m older
oven timer
i look at the clock
above the stove
afraid to see
the time
but see instead
the oven timer
counting down
at about
three and a half
minutes left
—i am thankful
to see a time
with no consequence
for my life
other than
there are two-hundred
and ten seconds
remaining
until i need to take
the hard boiled eggs
off the burner
keep up
there was a time
when i was
in front of it
lately
i mostly
just try
and keep up
dead quiet night in the city
in the dead quiet
of the night
i feel so awake
and out of place
while everything else
is so dead
and there’s nothing
not even
the neighbors
to talk
or the cars outside
to go by
circular chase
always trying
to advance
and move forward
with no time
to settle down
and pay attention
to what now
is quite wonderful
and in
a circular
way
is that which
you chase after
all the time
right here
art all at once
art
being all
and needing
to press on
into
after
overwhelmed
with
the rush
coming on
all at once
seeing
exclaiming
wanting it all
to stay
this way
knowing
it won’t
so trying
to stay focused
while it does
alone time
i used
to do nothing
all the time
now
just a chance
to lay on the rug
alone
is a novelty
morning light in the cafe
a sliver
of morning light
shows itself
on the left side
of the square
wooden table
where i work
in the cafe
casting a shadow
beyond
the cup of tea
still steaming
—the same
table
on which
there was
only darkness
an hour before
oh the morning
oh the morning
yes it is
what i thought of
last night
when the day
had become too much
and in need
of something new
leaving work in a car on the bridge on friday night
left after a week worked hard in the car and my shoulders starting to relax a little as they do at least until a gradual tightening come sunday evening but just happy now to be headed out of downtown and back to where i spend my nights and the city has somehow kept the building under control and so is more natural to see the sky and easier to forget about what is other than a mono blue or white or even grey at the worst but even the fog on a rainy night i prefer much more just to sit inside and take time to boil water for tea and eat then steam or otherwise relax and spend time without having to get a return on the investment
several waking hours
so only sometimes
several waking hours
when spent as if
time won’t pass so fast
and really left
to look deep down
into what’s always there
but often glossed over
in favor of other space
made important
by limited time
morning alarm
how making
remember
when tired
that the morning
need is there
for you
to wake
sometimes
on time
how i feel in the morning
open free
feeling
quite alright
after some time
in unconscious flight
woken with
a bounce
or a bump
and nothing at all
feeling closed
or impossible
quite yet
at night not knowing
at night
not knowing
stumbling
in the dark
preferred
still
to knowing
to avoid
the fear
more than
the object of
a moment with a stranger
i shared a moment
with a woman
i didn’t know
at the bookstore
her and i
both browsing
as jazz music
played (no joke)
a little fast
and her and i
in this tight
little alley
between bookshelves
i wondering
if she’s interested
in the same stuff
and her wondering
i wish i knew what
and i stepped out
to write this
and she left
and it was over
metaphysical nonsense
in the meantime
meeting moments
that come and go
casually, often
enough so that
most space
has a great indifference
to the time
that washes over
revolutionary morning
less colors
with the lights down
so everything
is closer to black
conforming
and becoming one
until
a revolutionary
non-socialist
morning
when individual
color rights
will have
their day
pain dilates time
a moderate
amount of pain
just
to make time
last
a little
longer
but what if
you might die
tomorrow
but what happens
if you act
as if you will
and then you don’t
send some surety!
so you would say
a night’s day
never left from
no time before
still needs some
surety sent soon
in order to even
consider a noon
before a dusk
when it will end
as it does daily
sprinting a marathon
it seems to be
all coming
so you almost
want to sprint
even to death
because
this is it
but must balance
with the possibility
there is more
still to come
after a rest
and a meal
so still sprinting
to get somewhere
but not so fast
knowing
there will be more
nothing’s changed
some time ago
seemed like
things wouldn’t
ever change
like knowing someone
that looks different
over time
but you knew them
all along
so they look the same
entitled millennial (or, my parents don’t understand absurdism)
you get caught up
in thinking
what is worth it
with a working life
so on vacation
you’re thinking about
how much time
do i have to spend
back in the office
in order to make
as much
as this is worth
until you wonder
if you should
just spend
all your time
in the office
because nothing
is worth what
is required of you
to get it
time: at work vs. on vacation
funny that the time 4:21 means nothing on a saturday on vacation but on a weekday back in the city it means it’s almost time to go home
waiting
a pocket
opens up in time
like waiting in line
i love art
i love art
so much
on the weekends
that some
sunday nights
i think i won’t
go to work
when i wake up
on monday
but then
soon remember
the yin
and the yang
the day
and the night
the dance
and the sleep
art is the leap
but there still
must be
the landing
and the takeoff
which must
go well
before
and after
the air time
that is art
and can go
just as it will
but money
and survival
and physics
and rules
and relationships
are still there
when you land
spending time
when dissatisfied
with the present
i look to the future
mistakenly
as the future
has no cure
for present ails
other than
to surely spend
presents
and shortly after
spend presents
that were
futures before
time space sandwich
for long last
does time pass
tentatively
taking on more
space spread
out over what
came before
long fast race
time is so full
and passes
quickly which
seems to me
an oxymoron
as i look back
and see not
so long ago
on the calendar
a moment
which marks
the starting line
of a race
which seemed long
yet not so
strenuous
even though
much was seen
and great
distance covered
so i wonder
which is best
to pass life
full and fast
or slow and
more empty
maybe it evens
either way
age music
bones crack
like gears turn
without grease
to creak on
playing the music
of age
time dilation
the time intervals
with which
you measure things
grow longer
as you grow older
by that time
by the time i get enough
knowledge to be useful
by then i’ll be dead or senile
history one time
as if history
would repeat
when things
are never really
the same
so long goes
what lasts largely
as shorter still
matters mostly
in the near life
that only ever
perceives at once
money and time
I only care about work because of the money. I only care about money to buy back my time.
farther futures
thinking of the future is putting pieces of yourself in the future such that when you get to the future there is none of yourself left to experience it after having placed pieces in even farther futures
Night worms
the day belongs to everyone the early mornings and late nights belong to a few
what goes in these nights
what goes in these nights fighting age the malaise of youths eldered and all the seeing of light day consumed by nothing dark night fight these nights dark going elding youths no malaise not yet not while hope of the days light’s seen still beyond night’s appetite for nothing still beyond gnashing dark teeth like shadows inching elding into the day’s light at dawn these nights that fight the dread dark coming fight while youthful hope still lingers fight the night bring light here lighter hope the hope that brings near wishers dream a dream beyond night’s nothing young dear sweet bedmate keep beauty in these nights whence light once rushed hoped in hearts as youths tend to kept in sight of the day’s touch hold me hear dear sweet young beauty tell me what goes in these nights fighting
change
things change, why resist them so much, holding onto what they were, thinking that is the only way that they can be, when the new way has come about for a reason, give into the reason, let go of what was
spending time for no reason
i continue to have this sense that the way i am spending my time is not good enough, or maybe, rather, just that i have nothing to show for what i’ve spent my time doing, especially for enjoyable and ephemeral things that had no utility or productiveness.
thinking of this in terms of spending time for pleasure and then judging that time spent for output of some material or otherwise utilitarian gain, as opposed to being grateful and thankful for the pleasure you enjoyed.
Time spent for pleasure
K: Do you see value in time spent for pleasure?
C: Yes, I didn’t use to.
K: When did that change?
C: When I realized that I was going to die no matter what, and nothing really matters.
I’m the opposite of you. There are times when I indulged more than I should have. Times when I did things in excess, e.g., spending too much time doing unhealthy things, investing emotionally too deep in someone.
As I get older I try to find balance and be present in doing non-pleasurable things. I don’t really enjoy it but if I’m present I can benefit from it both in the present and in the future, like washing my face—even if I don’t enjoy getting up out of bed in the present, I feel a lot better in the future if i do it.
I think about what I would remember right before I die. I think I’d remember times when I felt connected to something bigger than me, because that’s what I would be about to cross over into.
Giving time that space
Allowing what will happen to happen, giving time that space, sacrificing it to change.
Thinking of what will be
Experiencing what is, thinking of what will be, wondering how what is will affect what will be, letting your thoughts about what will be define your experience of what is, letting your feelings about what you are experiencing be good only in the case that they are good for what will be, only allowing yourself to be a certain way, which is to say only allowing what there is to be a certain way, as you experience what is, and making these requirements for yourself based on what you want yourself to be at some point in the future, which is to say making requirements for what will be in the future—in other words, trying to control the future. All the time doing this in the present, to manipulate what will be in the future, instead of just allowing the present to be itself, and thus looking deeper into the experience of the present with your full self that also exists in that present, letting water run together with water, instead of always focusing the attention of your present self on thoughts of the future, letting oil try but fail to run together with water. Future thoughts are merely experiences of a reality that has yet to pass and thus are less clear and beautiful than the thoughts of a present reality that exists right in front of your nose and overwhelms your appetite for attention over and over again if you really look deep enough and never run out of things to see.
Like just now, I am high, unable to function too well in terms of what my experience will demand of me in the future, especially when I have to return to work, but I don’t have to work for four days, and all that my present experience demands of me is that I relax, and so I ask myself, why let thoughts of the future change my experience of the present? Especially when my current state of being high is actually better suited for this present reality and will certainly change, many times perhaps, before the future experience of going back to work according to which I am now judging my present self and for which I now prematurely try to change my present self, and as a result would make my present self more ill-suited for the present experience in favor of being better-suited for a future experience. Why does that make sense? It does not, I don’t think.
Or, with my writing, I paused because I was going to write something but forgot, so I stopped writing, and started thinking of what I had forgotten, trying to remember, thinking of what the writing would be if I could only remember what I had forgotten, thinking of the future of the writing and ignoring what I was thinking in the present, restricting my experience of my present thought process so that I could pull a thought forward from the past in the interest of a future version of the piece that I had conceived of only in my mind.
Spending time
Now that it’s over, even though I’ve been after it this whole time, apparently I carried nothing along, so that I have nothing to show for my time, nothing to hold onto that I can touch and feel and say, this is what I got for it. Only now that it’s over do I feel this way. I can still remember moments while it was still going on, when I would say “this is it” or “I feel good” or “oh wow” so that it is only in hindsight now that I wonder what was gotten, even though all along I would have told you that I was getting it and even exclaimed to you, this is it! Perhaps it is a function of my bad memory that I now feel empty-handed. Or perhaps it is the nature of time to lock anything good in the present whence it passed, so that the present that now finds me writing, which was only a future from the perspective of the past present to which I am referring, is a whole thing in and of itself, that cannot contain any of the goodness from before. I am a banker with a vault. I keep putting funds into the vault only to find that they disappear right away. Time is not like money after all. It doesn’t save. You have to spend it when you’ve got it. Spend it deeply and rightly and well, and don’t expect to remember why you spent it or what you got for it, because at anytime after, when you are thinking like this, and trying to remember what you spent your time doing, in that very moment you will have more time to spend, and you’ll be better off just spending that time, rather than trying to remember how you spent your time before.
Edit: thinking of this in terms of spending time for pleasure and then judging that time spent for output of some material or otherwise utilitarian gain, as opposed to being grateful and thankful for the pleasure you enjoyed.
time tricks
when i’m not with you i want time to go faster when we’re together i want time to move slower i want time to do all these tricks for me like speed up and slow down, dance around and stop and start again when the great trick of all is it consistency and it’s me that screws it up by not playing along
old man
aging, old man looking back remembering pulling forward; old man, what for? things are different now; you are different now. what you wish for isn’t here, can’t be; it’s there, always. with the same powers that you look backwards, look here; this is it. what you long for, it is here. in the same way that you were you, meeting what was; again, you are you, here and now, meeting what is. your desires and abilities, your hopes and fears; they have changed, yes. but still you have them. and what does it matter what they actually are? so long as you have them, and are still alive. there is still a game to be played. the rules have changed slightly. you have gained some skills and lost others. play on, old man.
Young ones grow up
At the height of it I wish you could have seen what wasn’t ever less than the bright flashing that we couldn’t close our eyes from when we were kids and thought to ourselves that someday we would get there to what the adults do in their private hours and against the rules that are seemingly only to protect us young ones that can’t protect ourselves until we grow up and it’s all there laid out and some take too much all at once and don’t make it but others can balance and come back again and again.
Where I’m going
I see some spots on my hand. I am getting old, I tell myself. I could die without ever getting where W’ve even trying to go all this time. Where have I been trying to go? Some part of me seems so sure I’m going somewhere, but whenever I ask where, I can’t answer.
Can’t wait
Sometimes I think I just can’t hardly wait. I’ve agreed to meet her and I just wish the car would drive faster. Unhealthy, these insatiable desires. These hopes for the future that only hurt if you let them hold onto you long enough. Shake them. Breathe them out. Breathe in the subtle present—this we trade too readily for a future that can’t possibly match our hopes; a future that is really just a present yet to pass. All we really have are presents.
Living in the past
I wouldn’t have wanted to think of it, had I any hope of experiencing it again in the real world. Without such hope, all I had was the memory. I know to avoid living in the past; in this case, however, even a hazy and abstract semblance was better than any present reality. Laying in bed at night I played it over like a movie on the back my eyelids, each time it became more distorted. Still, there was nothing out in the city that could be any better for me. Until now, I’ve finally forgotten enough, so that my memory is not even of the actual occurrence, but more so of my longing for it. Only recently have some present realities presented themselves as superior alternatives.
You can’t stop time
Suppose it wasn’t so sorry enough that you really thought the clock even cared, ticking along like a march of hand soldiers that even the coldest winter snow couldn’t stop. Even if Atlas himself held back the clock hands with all his strength, it would take much more, even than the shoulders that hoist the world, to stop everything from changing.
Open your eyes
Whether it was or wasn’t, doesn’t matter now. When the past is gone, it’s gone. When the ships have sailed, they’ve sailed. When the meadowlark moans you must crane your neck and look up into the tree and see. Your mind and memory have failed you with facades you’ll never fully realize. Your eyes can only show you what there is. Drink this and only this. Lean in after the sight of it and let it swallow you whole, until you can no longer tell the difference between yourself and what you see. When the past is gone, it’s gone. Let it go. Open your eyes and see what you have left.
Friends with memory
I like spending time with people that remember things. It somehow gives importance to the moments we spend together. For the same reason I like to write and take photos.
As hard as I try, I can’t help but feel that I am losing something when present moments pass. I want my time spent with others to be an investment in their memory bank, even if it has to push out other memories to make room.
I’m selfish about the space I occupy in their mind. I’m even competitive about it in the same way that I want to make space for myself in culture and history. I want to be remembered. I don’t want to die. But I know I will. So I substitute mnemonic remnants of myself for the longevity of my actual physical body, hedging against the possibility that not even my soul lives on.
I’d be happy enough just to live on in others. I’m less attached to maintaining myself in the confines of my own ego. I see more clearly now that everything is part of, and flowing in and out and together with, everything else.
Stay present
All you have is the present. If you live in the past or the future, they are just less realistic versions of the present. Also, they detach your time from your space. For example, if you spend your time dwelling or hoping, you can’t focus on what you want and need and what you can do about it in the present.
In between times like these
Seamus says, “Just working in between times like these.”
Krys says, “Marking off the days in my calendar.”
We laugh jaded laughs, morbid about some things, but soberly, and knowing the things we have to do are well worth times like these.
Infinite lives
When we were young we talked in terms of now. When we went to school we talked in terms of what are you doing today and tonight. At work we talked about months. Now we say we’re going to do this or that for so many years. I wonder, if we lived infinite lives, we’d start talking in terms of decades and then centuries.
God of time
The god of time visited me, pocket watch in hand. He talked in a rhythm that matched the ticks of his watch hands. He said, there are appropriate times, to stop and to go. You shouldn’t stop when you need to be going. You shouldn’t wake when you need to rest. Do the right things at the right times and watch out for when the times change subtly. You’ll be doing one thing and all of a sudden it’ll be time to do the next. Balance between staying completely present to what you’re already doing and keeping your eyes peeled for potential futures that need to be grabbed at just the right time.
Torn like a sunset
Tell me things, about when they weren’t like this, when you had to dress a dandelion just to hold down the fort for a night’s cabin. Man, I miss those nights, even the ones that have yet to dusk, that might resemble nights passed, in which case I can’t wait. Nights are like dying, which means they are also like living. I am always torn like a sunset. I want it to start but I don’t want it to be over.
More time
I want more time, what for? When I think of the rest of my life, I wonder what else there is. What would I miss if I didn’t get to live it? Isn’t it all pretty much the same?
If I were able to live for a millennia, I think I would. Why not? Might get some kicks out of it. But if I were able to choose immortality, I don’t know. Part of me wants to die, I think. But when I find newness that gives me life, I fear death.
If I could always find newness, maybe I would choose eternal life. But then what if I changed my mind? I’d be doomed not to die. Even if that were the case, I think I’d find something new and be alright.
Leaving slack
Sometimes I try to plan things too perfectly and don’t leave margins for air and the whole thing breaks when one small thing goes wrong. It’s important to leave yourself slack and enjoy it when everything does go as planned and you have to have some patience to wait for the slack to let out and remind yourself that you would have been thankful if you needed it.
Narrow days
Tell me what does become of the narrow days that pinch up all the time in between morning and night so that in the middle is a quick rushed river that cuts deep and doesn’t leave room for morning coffee or night tea but is just sandwiched for lunch in the middle so tight that when you go to bite into it all you get is the thin air that rushes out of your lungs on the last narrow day that you didn’t know would be your last.
What a full three days feels like
I have no concept of how much time has passed on this vacation. I think, how else have I spent three days before? So many threes, not so full as these past three.
Too late wisdom
I am learning how to live, finally. But my body will be too old soon.
Just not forever
I can love anyone, just not forever.
Slowly and consistently
You cannot do everything all at once, you can only do it slowly and consistently with the time you’ve got.
Perfect moments
A few moments are perfect, like the movies. Everyone is beautiful. The conversation is clever. Laughs are haughty. Someone speaks another language to the foreign waiter. Everyone is in love. We think to ourselves, it can’t get better than this.
I think of Nietzsche’s idea of eternal recurrence. The idea that even just one perfect moment can make an entire life of less-than-perfect moments worth reliving.
Unsuccessful people give into short-term pleasures in normal everyday moments. Successful people spend the normal moments preparing to make the perfect ones possible.
The churn of space and time
Nights, like everything else, have slow beginnings. Nothing can start fast right away. It’s got to first figure itself out as a thing apart from other things in space. For the night this is clear. It is the darkness clearly set apart from the light. And then time will start to change it. And the changes happen faster and faster. Until the original thing explodes open and it isn’t itself anymore. And then a myriad of other things, born from the explosion, have their own slow beginnings.
The hours before
Remember when it was quiet. When you came over and I was cooking. You were sitting on the couch. I poured you a drink. It was simple and slow. I asked you about your day and you made a joke.
That hour or so, maybe less than that, when it was just you and me. It fills up with anticipation for the night. It fills up with anxiety about the silence. It fills up with things other than peace if you let it.
But now that we’re in bed in the morning, and we try to remember the night, it’s easy to overlook the subtle acceleration. When A came over and started to play his music and the volume got a little louder. Then K came over and we danced and moved a little faster. And then E and J came over and by then the night was really a big boulder tumbling down the hill.
To really savor it, I don’t know if it’s possible without slowing down. But at least to remember how it started so slow, makes the fast rush of the out of control night just that much sweeter.
Early morning hours
In the early morning hours when some of the night is left over and the day hasn’t quite worked up the courage to get over the horizon, there is this in-between world where everything is still and you can’t tell if it’s a human planet because nobody’s around.
Death night
I run away from death and into the night, not realizing they are the same thing. Drunk and high I forget and just focus on the present. When I get sober again I remember that time is limited and there are things I want to achieve.
Investing your time
There is always a trade-off between spending time in the present and investing time in the future, just like spending money now or saving it for later. If you only spent your time in the present, then you would ignore needs of the future. You might still find food and shelter in the present but it likely would not be as good as if you spent time planning and growing to find better food and shelter in the future. On the other hand, if you spend all your time investing in the future, you’ll likely have no joy in the present. And there’s great risk, in the case of unexpected death, of losing all your investments all at once.
Weekends
The workweek became like a fast before each weekend binge. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I went to the gym. Tuesdays and Thursdays I ran. I ate healthy, mostly fruits and vegetables, oats for breakfast, fish for protein, and no red meats.
I meditated in the mornings and said prayers of gratitude at night. I breathed through my nose and slept on my back. In the office, I sat at my desk looking at my computer screen, thinking of the weekend. I wrote notes to myself as I pretended to work.
I didn’t think about Hannah anymore. I considered maybe I had only wanted her out of boredom in the office. Now with my new life, her and everyone else in the office seemed inconsequential. I thought of quitting, of course. But I realized I needed it. I needed the structure and the time to decompress.
The weekends bursted at the seams. We lived until we almost lost control. Monday morning was when I pieced it all together. I could lose myself completely on the weekends, like an astronaut in outer space. As long as I had my tether and oxygen line connecting me back to the space station. I could float off without worry and explore because I knew I could return to the sober, structured and healthy week.
Each day
Live each day as if it’s the only one.
Young adult
All of childhood we collect data without standard, then we grow up and experience these things for ourselves and form our opinions and retroactively say of those adults we remember, they were foolish or brave or smart or arrogant.
Passing time
The sickest thing would be to try and pass the time, in order to avoid the bad, rather than use the time chasing after the good. Worse would be to give it away all at once via suicide. In moments I understand it. All other times I’m scared as hell to die.
Death
When my time has come it will have come, and that will be the end of it. I will not fight it. I will do my fighting before it comes.
Forgotten
I remember the times that a name was “on the tip of my tongue,” as they say. I remember ideas that I had in the shower but forgot to write down after I got out and dried off. I remember what it’s like to be in bed and in love, but not really. I really only remember the generals, and not nearly everything. I really only remember that I have forgotten.
Death
We weren’t dying or anything. But it felt like we were. It felt like death was coming a lot sooner than anybody was expecting it.
Modes
I experience life in varying modes—once, so slowly and beautifully, healthy and paying attention to everything; another, so fast and blurry, sweating and barely able to keep up and survive. They come and go, these modes. I wonder about people who live whole lives in one mode, if anyone does. Especially anyone who has lived a whole life in the slow and beautiful mode. I’d like to live that way.
A poem I wrote at yoga
i like to find i've opened time and made it big so it doesn't matter anymore i like to hear the clamor clear and really start to listen i like to hope beyond hope that after this there is a this still to be but then again i start to sin and stumble which is when i like to find i've opened time and made it big so it doesn't matter anymore
Time
You have the time; you just don’t use it effectively.
Older
I’ve been trying more often lately to stop time; I’m getting scared of getting older.
My philosophy of time
The philosophy which will improve my life, which will give me the courage to exhaust myself with every most minute unit of time, is this: this time, for the next however long of a moment, will pass no matter what, and I, as a dynamic spatiotemporal creature, have the power to do anything within my power, and the only sure way to find out what I should be doing, is to do. Whether to think, act, create, love, or be; I will, because I can, and therefore I must.
Rest
How to enjoy the time that is without worrying about what will be, when the time that is, is only so, relative to what will be. I lay here on a beautiful Saturday afternoon smelling eucalyptus and seeing light come in through the shades. I want this to last forever but think about Monday. I wonder about when to go and when to stay. I think it’s about time I rest; and that’s the scariest thought I’ve ever had.
Coming of age
There's a period of life, in between coming of age, and getting old; when young enough to see, hear, and feel; and old enough to cherish and understand; and if you blink, you'll miss it; with healthy body and wise mind, you can keep your eyes open.
Only today
I don't even think of tomorrow. What for? It is just another today.
Humanity
Humanity, the real stuff—looking into someone’s eyes, feeling their skin—the important stuff, you have only one lifetime to learn; you cannot read it in the history books.
Time
All we really have is time, and it’s what we do with it that makes up a life. So I never take time for granted; I’m always trying to slow it down and fill it up with as much as possible.
Spending time
I am not yet good enough at maximizing the time I do have in the present to start worrying about how I will spend my time in the future.
Spatiotemporal
I have met a hundred men who have said they could do it, if in an instant; only they forget that the length is the humanity. And so too spatially. It is the time and space which is ours. So to say such and such if only in a moment, or in a molecule—is not human. It is a non-phrase. The language itself is spatiotemporal.
Needing nothing
I wake up with my best friend and make breakfast. We party all day in the forest. In the morning it is clear and sunny and at night it is dark and foggy. We eat. We are tired. On our way home, I think I am needing nothing. When my best friend leaves I set on the edge of my bed and wonder what to do. I am tired but not sleepy. I look at some things. I read a little. I live a whole lifetime in a day. Accidentally, I fall asleep. I wake new and with refreshed needs. I get out of bed curious about my new life and the change of scenery.
Permanence
I feel a need for permanence. As much as I enjoy a present moment, still I want it to be notated or remembered.
This right here
Everything leads up to this point. I feel like this all the time. Like everything begins and ends here.