some-time; a captain’s log [—]

some-time; a captain’s log [—]

a friend, a co-worker (whom I always meant to hang out with more), is sailing off to another port, quite literally, a foreign shore, her departure has deposited me in a destination of regret, I must admit, for time always disappears when you operate under the easy assumption of unending days, days that run into days and into months… which breeds and feeds the beast inside known as complacency, ‘tommorow, the sun will…’ ah you know, no, time can not be tidied up and put back in the tube, we all know this intrinsically but do not put this in practice most days, we get lost in the germane no-name insane idiosyncrasies of the every-day, a moment gone is spent, and then there is nothing left, nothing left that is – but a side dish of regret, I could blame covid, I could blame a thousand things more, or I could just look in the mirror, I used to believe in fate, maybe I will never be the type to go full-tempt with such a fire, but a little push now and again might help… moments not had, are just utterly gone, out of grasp, we hear the advice “live like there is no tomorrow”… but how many of us really do, and how do I move my consciousness into that space, permanently, that is, not a rental, on the outside I seem like the most confident person you may have seen, a peacock head about, and I am to some extent on the common grid, but only on that little patch of known I call my own, my island, my temperate comfort time zone, a boat tied to the dock that dare strides outward into the water, right there, right there in reach, seaworthy, for I am always over prepared, enough rations for ten men, water supply for twenty, let alone enough for a simple tour on the bay for a day, to check out the other sights and lands so familiar on the periphery, perhaps, or I can step-back-nap further, into my hammock, in this space, my cut out paradise, alone but not lonely, this becomes a self-fulfilling mantra after-all, and the more you whisper in your own ear or to your own heart, like breathing air that contagion spreads and takes over the essential blood in your veins, reinforcing domains, self set fences, like an attraction at the zoo, exotic at a distance, but at the base level, nothing more this world has not seen before, I wear the coat of confidence, so well these days, so well none can tell at times that the material might be cut from hole cloth, sometimes I feel like a 3 sided house, hoping no one will peek in the backyard – and what they might find there, I feel like Truman in the storm, without the fortitude, or the script deciding my destination in the right direction, but worse yet, I am the man in the moon pulling the strings, I have the keys, hell, I made the locks, the doors, the walls, all of it, but still some part of me remains institutionalized to myself, I can not fly, I don’t have wings, but I can break free, not just try, to go forth and walk out on that dock, untie my own creation, have faith in my preparation, I can always return here, or retreat here, but I am tired of just dwelling here. Surely, I will miss her, no doubt, she will never know, or maybe she does. The internet allows interaction, to be sure, crosses oceans, but nothing is like the experience of face to face with the instant reaction, there is energy there, an exchange from one life form of now to another, so now there will be one less patron @ my local bar, just a soon dusty photo on the wall, of the gone by that have passed through, pleasant memories, but not of now, the most important of time, lost, the now. so, with that, bon voyage…

notes: sometimes I get personal, this is my blog right ? I am not some mysterious artist, I am not trying to fake you or trick you, this is me, bleeding me, blind me, dumb me, flawed me… just me, but still this was all stream of c, duly noted in c.

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