the tactile efficiency of a wristwatch. one of the few survivors of enphonification. the clock in my phone in my pocket can never mimic the ease of the lift of the wrist. forgot my watch at a relative's house. only now do i feel its value. a phone to check the time, rummaging through a large bag or wearing a certain something. all hassle adjacents. to reduce this i carry less, wear less, maintain less. releasing myself to swing freely. wish i was a monkey. nothing crazy though. just a spider monkey. with a gold watch.

ugh. i sound like a modernist.

love has always been a wish of mine hidden behind bravado. that remains unchanged, but ive learned a thing or two about a thing or two recently. where the psychological truths truly sit can only be revealed with time and a little introspection. for now, in these calm reflective moments, i yield the solid conclusion to participate in life for life.

i will not abstain from love, because it depends on who i meet. and i will not indulge in love, because it depends on who i meet. both are inseparable like two sides of the same coin

exchange ridden of unfounded predefined motives and accept what is. is is is. ascend only when you have solid footing and dont engineer the footing. i came here for the food but im glad you guys are here too.

on the other hand, withholding has been a big regret recently. delaying interaction felt creepily strategic. and a little rude as if i tell the other that an ideal outcome is better than sharing presence with them. not to mention chances dont come twice.

fresh expression, when curiosity is high and things resonate, forms reality, which forms understanding, which forms connection. safely.

its as go with the flowy as usual but being open is weirdly new for me. a tidbit at a time, while learning to stay grounded in my discernment.

and so for this week and possibly forever, my goal is simple. to participate. be present in environments and open in encounter. not as a strategy for love, but a holistic approach for myself. one i should have had sooner.

to think of all the times i was elsewhere when something real was happening. if only i could have parted with fond remembrance of what we had instead of devouring regret of not being strategic enough. i still have my regrets, only redirected and productively learned from this time. if you really want love you should know you cant chase it. in the words of rumi the great:

The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you,
not knowing how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along.

and i say love, but you'll find it elsewhere too.

a few thunderstorms later it was silly to even worry about the posture of my cuttings. cuban oregano, the top leaves burn your tongue clean.

and the rain turned a few more things up. five potato sprouts for example. my mother deposits expired vegetables in my garden like theyre instant compost and the bin a scarecrow. but i appreciate the sentiment. cant pretend i know where the microbes prefer to dine anyways.

weeds sprouted, moist soil from hopefully not cat piss, might even be some worms in there enjoying both types of showers. there should be worms. so why not the wildflowers i bought from a neighbour last year in a small dug out rectangle by the front door? might be the wrong place for the seeds or the wrong seeds for the place. but trial and error, my friend. the way of life.

especially excited about the lavender. only guessing it is because i want it to be, could be imagining this lavender thing entirely altogether. will update in time.

im hearing the soil fizz after the top layer of water bubbled inside. the weather was cool, but not as cool as the water.

aaaaahhh...

and then the neighbours scream.

crazy about art journalling. i want to art journal again. i must hurry up and finish work.

insane lucky streak getting away with the bare minimum then an unsolicited extension just when my brilliant idea showed up. i mustnt repeat the mistake of waiting for ideas. i was lucky. with renewed motivation ill work.

but as for art journalling, hard time breaking back in. low pressure pieces happen from time to time, but since moving to typing i havent figured out what should remain physical. so far its been meaningful quotes i dont want to lose in my shitty filing system. the beauty you see in me is a reflection of you. rumi. lovely much unlike my rendering.

frequently i think about what fleur told me when i complained about the curse of awareness in creativity. i know, she said, and then went on to sound like nike. so i did do it.

(seeing parallels between personal and nonpersonal work)

showed up on the page despite resistance it was fucking ugly. i think about tearing it out from time to time. the ugliness you see in me is a reflection of you? i still dont know what i did back then that made it feel so effortless. i do know actually. it was not knowing. x-) ouch.

i want to work in conditions that coax creativity out. to do lists, quick jotting, nothing precious, a little abuse and collage perhaps?

collage. marianne introduced me. paid service but felt meaningful. grown a lot since then. thinking about how much ive changed, maybe thats why i avoid people from my past and feel uncomfortable with constants. courage, dear heart.

i found a good friend in a much older girl. she tolerates my way of conducting business, its the easy sidebysidety i commonly think about. she is most unlike me, but i most like her. i trust she knows that.

i do feel seen but more than flattery it was shared understanding. social flexibility on her side, emotional clarity on mine, without superiority. i wouldnt have held out if just a few months earlier. so i meet her at the right time.

on monday i found a fellow biker in her. part of the national biking association, she learned a few years ago and maintains her spot. inspiring.

i expressed how much i missed biking. the clearest memory of younger years, the effortless ground of meaningful early friendships.

lets go soon, she told me. right before leaving. i was tempted to walk with her all the way to her car.

17 was when i last biked. my favourite song then was 21 by hello sleepwalkers. when all i had was a computer, id carry it in my backback playing the downloaded song on my headphones.

now 21, i listen to it again. memories of my inner state, if extant back then are hazy, and i dont speak japanese, yet i perfectly recalled my relationship with the lyrics. i was even able to translate most lines myself.

this is what they felt like to me biking at 17:

The never-withering flower has withered.
The never-ending song has ended.
Nothing to do about it, I laugh,
As if giving up on my days.
But even that is a little lonely.
I tried to scream, but it was empty.
I taste helplessness again.
And just like that,
Just like that, I'm here.

The city lights are dim.
My reflecting heart is also dim.
Its strange that the sky,
is so far away like this.

I'm still seeing dreams.
Chasing the back of someone I don’t know.

On nights,
when I want to throw everything away,
I speed up my bike chasing,
The past I can no longer return to.
The cry of rusty wheels,
Resonates well in the winter sky.
Erasing,
The real sound of my crying.

A cold wind hits your cheeks.
Piercing in the chest.
I hugged you naked.
The room is the same as it was back then.

A cold wind hits your cheeks.
Piercing in the chest.
I hugged you naked.
The room is the same as it was back then.

On nights when I want to throw everything away,
I speed up my bike chasing,
The past I can no longer return to.
The cry of rusty wheels,
Resonates well in the winter sky.
Erasing,
The real sound of my crying,

I hugged you naked.
The room is the same as it was back then.

まだ僕は夢を見てる

love. love? this will be updated tomorrow. possible clickbaitey title change. but for now...

what a day this week has been. i finally have a few hours to breathe, so im going to write. how suffocating.

but ive been steady. happy even. writing and thinking have helped me through a lot.

my world is still empty but im okay with that again, and i mean it this time. yeah right. but im going to start biking again. for the first time in four years, how the city devours. to bike is a sick joke but i believe presistence in spite of sick jokes is the way of life within reason.

its past my bedtime and i want to sleep, but im bound to a shower by the coconut oil in my hair. why did i do that? ill be bald one day just wait.

the soundtrack of my days:
kissing in the wind
writing to reach you
my eyes
thank you travis for the mellow tunes. a state of being content, not too ecstatic but not particularly sad either. where i find myself suspended most days.

watering plants on a full bladder is not a good way to go about, but thats how much i love my grandfather.

four generous cuttings from his garden. i was worried theyd be confiscated, but they went through just fine. now i wait to see if theyll take root. while planting them where my dead plants used to grow, my digging, burying, and watering felt a little more intentional than usual. this, i thought to myself, is gardening.

my grandfather's garden is nothing impressive--two tubs of dirt in the tiled yard, bearing only what he deems useful--but its his. and now i plant something mine too. i wish them good dreams and walk back inside with a newfound responsibility.

meaningful additions like this tidbit by tidbit are what end in an everlasting garden, pleasing to both heart and eye. english cottage. now i approach my backyard with awareness. awareness to be unaware. awareness not to force it. its ironic and hard. but letting the soft animal of your body love what it loves goes both ways.

recently i finished narcissus and goldmund in the backseat of my car. a revelation as lifting as it was crushing. when i started the novel i saw myself in goldmund's hopeless admiration of his friend, and found hope in his redirection away from him despite and because of him. now i see myself in neither, but envy goldmund for becoming his friend's equal.

i followed goldmund through his journey intently. but while he had nothing and the whole wide world, i have nothing and no world. still, images come to me in the confines of my black car, in the face of the passenger seat. they seem to me foolish, frivolous, especially because i am tethered to them by the narrowness of my experience. but are they? i like my little dissatisfactions with my bleak world. i just wonder, if i roamed this earth alone what would i be all about? what would come out of me? that, i dont know.

and its hard to know yourself here, but ive touched dirt on my own today and feel i might have landed somewhere. dirt under nails for me, regardless of anyone. or is it my writing? my art that ive abandoned long ago? no, i was never good at that and it makes me sick now.

i dont know what to find in myself. age wise im still in the early leg of goldmund's journey. but i see myself nowhere soon. will it be this way forever?

maybe i should approach it the same way i approach gardening. but i cant help agonising its just part of the deal.

ive been roaming this vast earth for a little too long, i almost forgot where i belong.

my thoughts today, at the first sight of familar soul sucking in weeks from high up. it hurts my heart, greys my hairs. i must get out of here.

i want to learn violin.

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“How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.” ― Henry David Thoreau