Buffering - please wait

Rush, rush, rush goes our culture. The ol' American dream is shipping world wide. Everybody wants that house, car, good job and a worry free retirement. That was our marketing. Now it's gone viral.

It's hard to focus on something of importance at this speed. Everything is a blur: politics, finances, relationships, everything is fast but your internet connection.

Sometimes I wish life would... buffer for a while. Just a minute or two before the impact of my words, actions would fully load. A progress bar appears over the co-workers head as my curse words fly.

My ISP, Karma, has been fair, I get what I pay for. I make choices and watch them play out. But that buffering, man! Here would be the only place in the universe where it would be appreciated. If Life was slow to load, you can always cancel the stream, re-type your words, intentions and try again without consequences.

Yeah. That would be great, but.. yeah, the buffering would be great.

Photo: Train's cargo car taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI, Blanko)

Ancient Future

There it is, my passage out! A thin door amongst pages of a book. She told me I wrote scripture, my poetry had god-sense. I scribble only what I have seen.

My religion is liberty. A realization that your original mind is all you need to be free. The mind of a child, ignorance of fear. This world is a dream, so live in a dream-state as often as you can.

A scribe with many books in his satchel. Each one written with his feet. Experiences he prints in blood and dirt, dries into scars on the pages. The future reads and changes course. Only then can it really be called the future.

Photo: A journal I bought from Borders Books taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Kaimal Mark II, Cano Cafenol)

Ashram

It might as well be a temple. As many times as I've retreated to its open solitude. The spirits, the elves, the open doors I've seen in its low cut grasses. It might as well...

A girl showed me how to find four-leaf clovers. Old gods kiss my face when I was anxious about the divorce. I bartered with a priestess for the cookie. I've seen myself walking barefoot through the grass. Once there were creatures gathered in the far corner looking up. I looked up too. We were all blessed.

I am the shadow in this place. The observation of myself is true religion and my path to enlightened.

Photo: Mom's backyard, one of the most holiest places on Earth taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Jimmy, Blanko Noir)

These United States...

Myself and my fellow Americans complain too much. Liberals complain because Obama acts like a compassionate conservative. GOP complains because he is Black. Democrats complain because Obama continues W Bush's wars. Tea party complains because he's Black.

I work the weekends and.. wait, I'm employed?! Yes, I'm employed and have been all my adult life. I have loved ones not so lucky. I say luck, not because I didn't educate myself, acquired new skills, learn how to get along with people, because I did. I say luck because I'm sure other folks have and they are still jobless.

I am fat (as of this writing) not because of thyroid problems, but because I eat too damn much. There are people who don't have the same access to foods that I do and they are in the same zip code. Lucky, blessed, take your pick.

My beloved anonymous brother and sister, please take this time to celebrate the fortunes you do have. Like this internet enabled device your reading this self righteous blog post on. The Gods, Fates, Probability has been good to us. That picture is of a sandwich I bought from Starbucks. Taste good, but makes you write blog posts like this, so be careful.

Photo: Sausage, egg & cheese from Starbucks taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Helga Viking, Alfred Infrared)

the Evangelist

I heard this fire, these finger tips walking across coals. A sacred dance in Sin City. My reptilian brain was disquieted, he didn't know what to make of this language; the pain and insight of the Blues, delicious chaos of a Hendrix run. How can you put words on invisible tongues.

In 1972 the universe was created. Gods and goddesses were worshipped because they made it rain and the children grew up with a strong sense of cultural pride. In 1972, wars were fought and ended, long hair had politics woven into it. God was Black, Brown and Yellow.

On this sacred corner, wrinkled hands still remembered how to pray to ancient gods. The strings theorized people would pay to hear the gospel during their lunch hour. They was right. I saw all classes bow and toss IOUs at the prophet's feet. Their ears burned, they caught that feeling, then moved on. Prayer changes things.

Photo: Guitarist at 7th & F Sts, Wash DC taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI, Blanko Noir)

Taste

She didn't call. I saw a light refracting in a glass half full. I could distract myself with disappointment or burn this alcohol in a lamp and write.

My ink spilled a bit, dripping off the table, directing me to look elsewhere for inspiration. At two o'clock, a Cinderella relinquishes hard labour for a short time. Perhaps to meet a writer in his solitude.

I've seen a stone faced barista soften with easy, patient chatter. "Why do you care about my final exams." She says, espresso shots fall. I let the query linger, form its own conclusions, let the seed of curiosity grow.

Let it steam, questions without answers foam in the mind about this caring, well dress regular. Stir in a little politics and some compliments on simple braids and curls.

Can't grow attached to any potential cup of latte. The constant waiting in line or unrequited advances, enamors you to the process. To sip is not as important as that act of treasuring the taste.

Photo: To go cup taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Pistil, Cherry Shine)