Authority

I don't really want to write. I feel it pushing, pressing, ironing out wrinkles in metaphor and the like. It weighs me down. But I don't appreciate the pressure.

Idle nights with coffee were one thing. Waiting. These nights, raining question marks, lightning only to illuminate shortcomings, thunder to remind of atonement. Pandora radio to remind me I'm still here.

So many lack it though. Authority. Some is sneaky, ill-advised capitulation. Nexus lost. "Cave in. Listen here." In this Choose Your Own Adventure, that seems like a non-issue. You'll choose more interesting depth over cave-ins? Oh, you won't?" Swat.

I hit myself on the nose with a newspaper often enough.

Author, though. Who is it? Logos only go so far. The Word is still alive, and not even God knows how.

Worry worthy

It's about that time. About time to worry and fret. Everything's running out on me. Only the fence keeps the dogs home, but lapsing time means an end to it all.

Three months of idling have been busy enough for a lifetime were I younger. At this age though, it's a treasure. Didn't expect so many touches of gray at 34. Didn't expect wish fulfillment apart from a Sonic Youth album. Didn't expect any of this, but probably due to that whole "No expectations" thing to which I cling. Leaves me surprised daily. Surprised with family, fatherhood, foolish passing of gases as I breathe without a second thought. In, out. Countdown to count up to 10 in meditation and begin again.

Brightest prospects remain in the realm I left so I necessarily shudder and wonder why/how we got here. Do I want to return to that seasonal grind? Do I want to grind at all? Gotta, have to, else we won't even live on bread, but pressure is making that bread more like a corny slab and less like anything sandwich-worthy.