what are you that urge me to take pen and strike the heart of paper until it bleeds words, flows thoughts, and screams ideas?
and suddenly I’m thirty two.
if i were an infrastructure, the City Engineering Department would be inspecting me for stability at this time. they’d want to know if my trusses and beams can still support the tons of concrete coating my steel beams and iron railings. they’d want to known if my rooms, nooks, crannies, attics, basements, and cellars are still fit for habitation. and i’d probably need a touch-up of paint on my facade, as well as some repairs on the plumbing and the ventilation. i’d give myself an “acceptable” for these criteria.
so i’ve roamed. but i didn’t go far. i took the advice of one sage and i explored my neighborhood like a tourist would. the interval spanned the last post i left here at the Cafe until yesterday. i found the experience interesting. and it did help me set my priorities almost straight. then the muse started bothering my conscience again that i should be doing some emptying online. whatever that empyting is.
maybe it’s just me, but i feel that the world is sheathed in anger. i feel that wrathful heat pulsing through the day, through the places i’ve explored, through the news i see and hear. i see it in the interactions of people around me. peace has suddenly become more expensive than a canister of Beluga caviar. or am i wrong about the price quote?
oh, thirty two.
here we go. another notch etched on the pillar of life.