Take a Proustian journey through my life vis-à-vis the words I have published to the Internet over the last four decades.
Two months until my birthday, and tomorrow will mean 2 months until my graduation ceremony. It’s a bittersweet moment for me, as I am happy I am leaving the confines of private education; the uniforms, the useless rules, etc. It’s also a sad time, however. I now realize that some of these people I watched turn into men and women right before my eyes, and now I probably won’t see a lot of them until the reunion.
Yesterday was wonderful. After church, Bret and a couple of my other friends went to the park and partook in a smashing game of Frolf. I won, of course, but it wasn’t after having a throw-off to break a three way tie. Frolf is a lot of fun to play, but I like it’s Scottish counterpart (golf), I don’t think I have the time or commitment to get all the different kinds of discs for it. I will use my Freestyle Frisbee®, thank you very much. And like golf, other people on the course who are better than you can be very indignant towards you. In front of us, five “professionals” were playing. Though there were more of them, they still seemed to take an eternity to play each hole. Oh well, enough of my whining, I wouldn’t want to make Bret angry.
I neglected to update Nothing in General until Wednesday, much to my chagrin. I really haven’t much else to say. I don’t have much of anything to say now, but I felt obligated to update this before the week ran out. Last night, I dreamt that Bret and I were having a race. The race started off alright, but then he saw a cop ahead, and so slowed down. I didn’t see the cop until it was too late, and he pulled me over. Fortunately, the cop was a great guy, and he and I ended up being good friends. What could this possibly mean?
Airy wisps of dried grass
drift through the summer sky.
That sky:
a magnificent purple hue,
“purple sky at night,
sailor’s delight.”
I love that saying.
I remember boyhood,
watching the sky go
from dusk ’til dawn.
I’d take note of all the hues.
I’d try to count the millions of stars.
I’d try to be a man on the moon.
That moon-
an imperfect orb of yellow and white
kissed by craters and marred by shadows,
Earth’s little wonder.
I wish I was Neil Armstrong.
Shriveled husks and dying leaves
float through autumn’s air.
That air-
the crisp, frozen breaths of wind.
Blowing through the hills and cliffs
shifting the limbs and branches.
Leaves crunching under foot,
Making that fragile crackling,
followed closely by tiny snaps
and finished with the thud of my sneakers.
All trivial, yet vital sounds.
Those sounds-
the gentle crackle and popping of fires,
wind whistling through the fields.
the tapping of the trees’ branches on my window.
The air and ground both frozen
the icy grasp of winter’s hands
those hands
a terrible force of nature
clawing at the weak
pulling them down
greys and whites combine at all sides
coming together, blurring my vision
the wintry breath comes quick now
chilling all those who dare tread
out of doors under the snowy sun
that sun
an oasis in the bleak sky
beckoning the weariest of travelers
i wish i had waxy wings
to carry me up there
IV.
after the bitter elder of winter passes
the child of Spring brings its precious rains
those rains
sweet to taste
warm to feel
fertile in their aire
after the skies get flooded and stuffed
the great star arrives and dries the ground
and the children of Man find Nature again
dancing in the warmth of the rays
feeling the freedom of the animals
those animals
beasts and treasures to behold
held in your hand, some to fear
Man’s partner’s on Earth
V.
After the Child of Spring
grows and ripens back into Summer,
the woman of Autumn comes to clear
Earth for the spite and embrace of Winter.
Just like Man, our seasons age and mature,
Just like Man, our seasons are fragile infants,
Just like Man, our seasons are embittered forces
Just like Man, our seasons die to give way to the young.
Well, no one feels comfortable simply calling me “Authority.” I can’t be sure, but I think it’s because they would rather not concede my superior intellect, physical prowess, or substantial good looks. They would rather continue with the lie and call me Michael, rather than my desired moniker. Oh well, life goes on, I suppose. Maybe I can think of another good name for myself and see how people react. Most any name I give myself is incredibly fitting, so it shouldn’t matter what it is. I was thinking something catchy like Superman. It’s just a thought, though.