Gratitude

Giving thanks where it’s due.

What Oversharing Looks Like

I’m drinking the cheapest Coca Cola in the world, while quoting Jesus for your spiritual salvation: “Sober minded”, and worrying that by bid on Amazon isn’t high enough, because the antique McDonald’s flags, are what my customers like best for toilet paper.

To properly undershare:

Necesito escribir en Espanol. Yo se que tu no puedes entender Espanol, solo es que, me gusta mucho como las palabras crecen en mi mente. Son muy belleza, y forman delicioso con mis labios. Lo siento si hay errores con mi escrito, estoy aprendiendo como pensar, y tambien estoy perdiendo mucho de mi lengua Espanol, porque no estoy practicando lo bastante.

“I am a truthful man, and before dying I want to share these poems of my soul. My verses are light green, but also flaming crimson. My verses are like a wounded fawn seeking refuge…with the poor people of this earth, I want to share my fate.” -Jose Marti-

The other day I wrote an article titled: it-was-1600-words-you-can-have-300/, and I still have the other 1300 words in another article. I’m not sure if I’ll share it, not because your incapable of emotionally processing it, but because it took me all that effort, to get to the part that best reflected how I felt in regards to my goals with TATWIP.

Blog as you will, the internet is a social revolution, that is almost 20 years old. Blogging is the underdog. I don’t know you. You are a stranger in the dark. What are you selling yourself on? It tastes like free art to me, and I get to decide if it helps me or hurts me. Is it hurting you, or are you hurting?

Thanks for being willing to question the judgements found in the philosophy of western psychology. Everybody has a kid in their heart, and some of them are laughing.

It Was 1600 Words: You Can Have 300

I value the people who give back.  It’s not as much a tit for tat as a, “Wow, look at that!!”  It’s easier to find the best in me, when I see it in others.

When my friends tell me to take it easy, that anybody can work themselves to death.  The generous few in my life who consistently are willing to put up with my cycles of idealism and dreaming, without stomping me into the dirt with judgements.  Their questions are oblique.  They don’t tear at me like a prideful cleaver.  They sit back and ask me something of honor….and let it steep in their love.

These are the people who act like my dog, or a kid.  When all the hope in my world has gone into the engine of a nasty train of thought, and I look at the memory of them, and see only calm acceptance, or a well-meaning question.  They are the reason suicide is never a viable option for me.  They are the knot at the end of my ropes of disappointment.  They burn the doubts in myself, with faith that what is inside of me, is worth their attention.  These are the people I live to serve.

Maybe I should let go of wishing they were in my age group.  I guess that’s one of the main reasons I love blogging.  I don’t know how old you are, and I don’t really care, but it gives me a chance to cultivate and share the sentiments I value most, from the wisdom of those people. I am thankful for my family, my friends, my honorable customers, and my readers here.  For the several who make the difference by reading and encouraging me consistently, and the many who just stop by to see which way the wind is blowing.

Refreshed Oil Lamp

Thankful for safe harbor.

Packing the bags with hope.

Anchor lines whisper on the gunnels.

Sail hems mended to almost blend in.

Slap of chop echoes in the belly of the keel.

Port masters will only glance as a fresh shave.

Storm clouds on the horizon are beckoning wind.

Coats of paint baked to a cure in the hot sun.

Tying the tiller to sleep on the deck.

Forecasts of bathing in a bucket.

He thought I was land sick.

Eyes wide with knowing it.

As truth in a blue sky.

Letting go in clouds.

A lamp-lit bow.

 

 

 

 

 

It Will Always Be Worth More Than Gold

With a dot in the middle, you see the eye of the sun.

Our moon makes a trail around the earth, and our day turns to-night as a reflection of it, in a spin.

As the cycle of life men have an arrow, while women have a plus.

It represents humanity, but we chant to other symbols.

When slipped over our fingers it shows marriage, vanity, pride, a promise of loyalty, or wealth.

In the middle point between profit and debt, it means sharing, a gift, or getting something for free.

Ancient stories portray it as the forecast of immaculate sex, and it celebrates the magic of creativity.

A wild celebration of animal nature wears only paint, and babies are still made by a conquered spirituality.

Pull on one side of it, and you get an egg, a tear drop, a seed, and half of the yin yang.

Put two droplets together, and you get a heart as two eyes held together, in a stare of hate, or love.

The foundation of a medicine wheel, it speaks of compassion in a mandala, with arms outstretched in rays.

To protect the feeling it gives people, it prevents, starts, and finishes war in the silence of peace.

Is it the flag of the future in the shadow swing of the sundial, and the rotation of a clock?

Math and science have stripped it down, to mean the coldest temperature we believe exists, or nothing.

I hope to put it on your face forever, in the wonderment of a number that breeds a smile.

Life on this planet means everything to me, so happy Ishtar, and happy Easter.

 

 

 

A Corked Letter

Image

Dear Carpenter,

While looking at this patio roof, I couldn’t help but realize, that you will be fixing the wood we put up, when it rots.  Thank you for catching it in time, and preserving the piece.

Please keep in mind that the previous artist who built this home had a personality like mine, and that our adaptation to his creation, was a reflection of how he built his home(with art).

If you find yourself doubting our skills and tradecraft, realize it was good enough at the time, and that the location of this letter was determined by the worst spot on the project.  I took it down and did my best to not improve it, when I hid this here.

When you begin to cuss us for our angles and complicated frame-work, please keep in mind that the customer loved that it looked like a spider web, and we cussed our way through a day of figuring out how to put the thing up, because she wanted it that way.

Additionally, if you are wondering why the thing wasn’t painted, well, you can thank the customer for that too.  She was smart enough to invest in cedar wood, and doesn’t like to paint.

Since I am neither a framer, or a roofer, and would rather be learning how to work with rock, I’m sorry if the repairs are difficult.

Sincerely,

Benjamin 0

P.S.  Is there a large stone as the first step, at the bottom of the staircase?  Did you use it to find this note?  Cool.  Maybe you should try playing with rocks too.  Sorry about the nails, we have an ongoing love affair with fasteners.  When in doubt overbuild it, and nail the shit out of it, right?