Escaping Vanity

 Because it hasn't happened previously.  Because exceed expectations.   Because you're unpredictable. Folks can size you up.   They can assign a value.  However, we're all dynamic organisms.    We are not defined.  Nor shall our time be plotted with action.   It may be thought that circumstances render like outcomes.  Life will play out with only one of the many possibilities.   One of those is the best outcome.  Variables are infinite!   The greatest of those is the human spirit.   Perhaps out of hope, I should have titled this, "Beat the Forecast."  That's the profiteers hope to do.   But, when you're living to make the most of each day there are losses to suffer.  The expected, the normal variables create a net for how we will refrain from peril.   Risking something bigger compromises that safety. One way to chang...

Probably a sickness, definitely symptoms of illness.  Unable to trust anyone in the world.  Begging for the energy of the person you need.  That reciprocation to validate a social existence.  To answer our personal question, are you alone in the universe?  As if it may seem, your understanding of that situation is abstract.  Especially as times change. Decisions and consequences seem to explain the law of attraction.  But, what about the human conditions of forgiveness or boundless love?  The idea of a light that never goes out.  An undying candle forever guiding you back home. When you lack that beacon of guidance for knowing the way...  One's soul is cannibalized by agony.  The feeling of defeat and stain across the landscape.  A beautiful island of despair.  Something you alone cannot enjoy as you seek to share.  Beautiful sunsets that can only drown you  in ...

Just searching for the shoreline. A bottom. Somewhere to stop bobbing, where stepping out of our vessels doesn’t require treading water. Wading or the possibility of drowning. Others want the tour. They want to walk up the long staircases. To see the shining mediocrity. Spectacles that we place in the middle of paintings. Manned or empty… Often it’s the idea of guidance. Lighthouses… For some a magnet. Others see the signal as a warning. They are trying to stay away. Seeking to stay back from the shore. Preventing their natural urges to run aground. Many of these structures have fallen. Some victim to the storm and the seas they are meant to serve purpose against. Time has eliminated the rest. Like great role models. Principles we use as our compass. Symbols recorded in our history... Conceptually we all have our lighthouses. They help illuminate boundaries. Like the ghosts of battlefields. Fallen beacons we carry in our hearts and minds. Perhaps a headstone. A photograph. R...

My approach to life is quite skeptical. The title of this blog reflects the vanity of acceptance. Choices I make which often reflect influence and attempts to uplift others. Risks which I measure out by the research. What is most likely to bring positive results. Other times the methods reflect an outcome which is coarse and likened to what can I survive. Striving to make people happ[ier]. Leaving situations better than you found them. There is almost certainly a chance to learn. Putting things into practice doesn't mean taking a step back. In fact, its only possible by going forward. The past cannot be changed. Changing practices can be sweet additions. Other times we are exchanging components. My want or need to surprise someone with the unexpected is part of my motivation. Finding an angle to bring progress while being reasonable. However, analytical sounds a little more fitting since usually don't see it coming. The duality of circumstance is where I love to be. The ...

As time presses forward folks are inclined to setup. To form in their ways like concrete. Cracks will form, and we... try not to step on those cracks. Superstition? Perhaps it's easier not to combat someone's flawed notions.  There are rare periods of demolition and repair, for some. Mostly though people are rudimentary and have no interest in adapting or changing. No matter what the comfort level is they are settled. Perhaps you're familiar with the term "concrete jungle."  Beneath some are dark places. The metaphorical storm drains where keys are lost and secrets are held against their will. These things are not so common in small towns. That's because people have their own septic systems and deal with their own.  Crowded areas breed the excess and viciousness. Those numbers make it hard for someone to know everyone's name or feel important to a community. These big populations stretch the comfort of neighborhoods beyond stability. Outcasts ...

I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes. I know they're smaller than mine, but it seems like it's more to feel. There is a place where my feelings are extremely blessed. However, folks dedicate so much of themselves to being a hard worker that you have angst for it to pay off. Knowing you're better off than others. Perhaps the feeling that diligence owes you something even more. There are folks who have been through a lot of struggles and believe they've learned from them. I don't envy any of their struggles big or small. My supposition, because I'm a competitive person, is looking at the quote about all being 'fair in Love and War.' But if you love your enemy then perhaps it becomes a complexity to know if the enemy of your enemy is your enemy. Is anyone? I think the older we all get, we're all looking around. Can we recognize the battle in another's eyes? Perhaps we want to find a place where we can relate and yet, give a h...

Boots no longer, toes in endless rows of red clay. He walks the Summer. Sand still gritty from the coast, a week ago; eyes close, waves return. Swift kicks and sharp cuts through the front yard; a World Cup fantasy. A wash of muddy chalk; diving in the rain and stretching for home. Soil from a fresh flower bed; awaiting breeze, ice cold tea in hand. Cheesy wax matches the bowl; eating without utensils, nor a care. Dried conditioner packed by setting spray; candlelit and cuddled. Peeled skin matching streaks; tracks down the shoulder blades of a fresh bride. Shreds of peeling; stacked for freshness. Awaiting culinary dreamscapes. Gritty seasoning with the tongs in hand; smoke rises, rolling on the wind. Sticky residue under a thumb; packaging loses the war. Smiles prevail. Powdered; swaying on the way to sink; delicious smells plated beautifully. Toxic oil; an isolated platform over salty horizons. A worrisome family… Rough Styrofoam; rugged p...