Dream journal: Election day

I had a dream in which I was running a restaurant. I was very concerned as to we were serving the right dishes and were they good enough.

I think it's humourous in light of the stress so many are putting themselves through. I sense I'm more concerned with what's for dinner.

People have a misguided idea of how much control they have. Inflated expectations. Illusions. No sense of deliberate non-attachment.

My thoughts for election day.

Money does not create taste

I am currently inspired or provoked by a situation where I am around people conversing about subject matters I find distasteful. It is not just the subject matter but the way certain individuals express their glee about something in a way that is crude and very telling as a lens into their character.

Specifically, the person that I am becoming to dislike, perhaps hate, is one who is based solely on material success. He thinks because he can afford things, it gives him license to do whatever he wants. With this kind of person, I am reminded of why I collect knives and why I know human anatomy.

Money does not create taste.

Stroll

On an early morning stroll,
Walking under trees in dappled sunlight.
In ten years, this path would again render the same imagery.

The crunchy feel of sycamore leaves underfoot;
The buckled sidewalks because of meandering roots;
The scent of flowers reaches my nostrils (always searching for sage or lavender);
The breeze almost giving me goosebumps, (wanting to reach my destination).

I remember how alive my senses are
Even at this odd combination,
The imagery recalls images of you.


12 October 2018

Stetson Rain

Big tall thunderclouds tease me about rain
For now, all they are doing is blocking Gulfstreams
Expensive jets engulfed by a splotchy sky

Cooler and humid air puts me a different country
Some Northern place this soul would rather be
Something better than this tech sprawl they call a town

Perhaps by evening I could walk in rain with my Stetson
It would bring back memories for sure, getting soaked
And one wouldn’t be able to tell the tears from rain

October 4, 2018

Filth

Bare trees
I’m waiting for leaves to fall
Fallen leaves
Satisfaction of gold and red things crushing underfoot
Threatening clouds
Feeling that rain will come to wash filth from humanity

Disconnected

It is not easy being disconnected. At some point, you have to let go.

Nomad

I found out today that I have to move yet again. The nomadic life finds me through time and space. I wonder what kind of nomad I was in past lives.