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January 14/15, 2017
The ‘E’ is fading this keyboard. The keyboard itself needs cleaning, not just dusting, cleaning. One cares not for the state of clean, rather what these keys can do, can produce, can render. Express those difficult thoughts. Those sharp, contrasted, contradictory, words, no one prefers to hear, read or write even.
Words fade into mist. Sentences hide between thoughts. Regret helicopters everywhere. Bring any person before this writer who has no regrets. Liars all.
The shadow of Cormac hovers. Short, choppy sentences, some incomplete, scatter like rain drops in this storm, striking everything with bombs of water. Shuck those thoughts, just be.
A walk in the rain after work. Raincoat that fine electronic imaging instrument, then venture forth. Do not look for anything. Express the moment, shoot those emotions waiting in the rain of discovery.
Discovered moments strike as lightning. Disjointed thoughts pour out, shower the page randomly: This writer is comfortable living alone. There is no comfort however, in sleeping without you. Your presence is everything. Our warm bodies spooned. Arms wrapped around you gently holding our security between satin sheets, and blankets electric.
Can images in the rain of emotion express that?
Rain wets everything without discrimination, as words compete for this privilege. A shower of words splashes across an electronic page, saturating the memory of this computer. Do they soak the mind, or are they passed over without comprehension, lost in the deluge?
Rain becomes a steady hum as the weight of water drops onto metal, bringing its own drum of music. A hypnotic thrum of constant, soothing, splashes, rule the night as puddles enlarge and increase the echo of wet everywhere. A January night of 2017 without memory.
Morning mist is a blanket of drops holding their place like diamonds waiting for a sun to sparkle them. A light fog wears its coat of wet like a useless water proof jacket attempting to keep Big Springs dry. The touch of cold wet seeps everywhere, touches everything.
This spirit in particular has no protection from the weather of emotions. Assaulted from all sides by every sense, there is no cover, no camouflage, no cloak of invisibility magic enough to conceal this spirit.
The truth of words seems to have a hole in it. Seems whomever reads these thoughts sees a different perspective, thus a different truth. What is truth for this writer may not be the same truth for you, even as we see, say, read, the exact some words. Truth is what you believe of what you read not what you read.
No wonder communication cannot be had clearly. Even objective facts remain debatable. Everything is subject to one’s experience, or lack of same, to one’s perspective, knowledge, or lack of knowledge, and always, attitude.
“One day on his way to work, a man stopped at the cafeteria as it began to rain. Forgetting that he hadn't brought an umbrella, he reached for the nearest one when he got up to leave.
"That's my umbrella," a woman immediately scolded. Abashed at his mistake, he left and walked to his office. He was drenched by the time he arrived. Once there, he discovered three umbrellas that he had left in the office over the months, and he decided to bring them home at the end of the day.
That afternoon he ran into the same woman who had confronted him earlier. She looked at the umbrellas, then at him, and tartly remarked, "You did real well for yourself today, didn't you?"
Like the fading ’E’ of this keyboard, one may stress a point into infinity, even the evidence of showing the worn letter may not be enough to prove, or validate a truth stressed over and over. Someone with convictions to the contrary, that they have the ‘truth’ may not be able to accept what is in front of them.
Words fade into the mist of this morning. Sentences conjure meanings and hopefully clearly express thoughts waiting for validation. Dressed for the wet one seeks those intangibles once again.
I am grateful for your visit. Thank you.