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Before the pandemic I started a tumblr to collect some of the images that were aggregating about my ankles and belonged nowhere else in particular.  Enjoy!

Scintillas of Aspersionary Acoustics

A venerable window of stained glass, the colors prismatic and yet unifed, an assertion of irresolution and it's beauty.  I had a dream about my mother that I'd paddled up from and proceded to neglect with masturbation and leftovers.

"Didn't you talk to anyone?"

"There was that one guy who talk to me."

"Yeah?  What'd he say?"

"Yes, well... I didn't like his tenor."

Superimposition. Big words every morning, little words spelling out desire. The peregrinations of lust, the menace of posterity. Or is that just me?

"What are you afraid of," she asked.  Too little, too late, but it bore consideration. "You know, everything in this dream is you."

Tara suggested microdosing but Ryan's friend declined, citing "some minds [are] better off not being free" and that stuck with me, struck a nerve.  Excessive desire requires containment.  Drinks.  Draaaannnks.  A flood of desolate proportions.  Desperate? Jesus, does my voice really sound like that? You want a better story?  Who wouldn't?  Thus the stained glass.  Imagine it returning into sand...

"For a ransom?" Her face salted with tears.

"What, you want me to give away my sadness for free?"

"I would hope you would."

Overhead the little white clouds must think so, in their powdery flights aloft, impervious to observable facts and subsumed with contentment.  Where, do you suppose they be rushing away off to, to the mountain, to the sea, to the question that cannot be asked?  Vaya con Dios.

Such a merciful God. Our God, hail, hailing clouds full of mercy to reign down upon us.  I'll take an uber, it's the better of the authoritarian appetizers and/or apertifs on display.

"How much were these tickets?"

"I just hope you're having a good time."

"Oh.  Oh. I am.  Belive me."

"Why should I?"

Because I am in a constant process of reconciling contradictions.  I went to high school in Vermont did I ever tell you that?  Why, what is it you fear? I dodged that question by announcing that he was going to make a trip to Red Herring Books, "anyone wanna tag along?" The adventure always starts with an invitation to make a journey.  I suppose you think that I'm going to be the first to die?  

"God cries out to be saved.  We go to save Him.  That's what space travel is all about."

"Did I tell you, Ana, that my new favorite constellation is Scorpio?"

"You're a sucker."

"In your dreams."

By no means other that visceral subjective personal bias I have arrived at the opinion that this window predicts the future.  The inconstant, unpredictable, and often uncertain future, like the house that was always on fire in Synedoche, NY.  I couldn't tell you what my mother wore that day, but I remember she smiled.  With an innate knowledge without no wisdom.

"Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"Nothing, keep going."

"You don't have to ask me twice."

And so we find ourselves at another one of the most definitive of acts. If non-definitive acts can be wisdom, transitive property, I am Socrates. Wisdom is expansive and multidimensional; it doesn’t fit inside this yearning to be as the cloud, as the light through the window.  It is the cloud and the light, and the cloud's shadow.  Leave the desolation and find yourself awake, alone, searching, thirsty.

"What is it you do," I asked Ryan's friend.  

"Civil engineering."

"Isn't, doesn't, but how do you account for free will?"

"That comes later."