Indifference

I've been thinking a lot again lately. Nostalgia strikes, songs fill my inner core and thus the creases of my eyes well with those little droplets we call tears. One of these days I'll learn the science behind that process. As for now, the actual act of crying will suffice.

Apparently it's "summer," not quite officially according to the Earth's rotation, but those of us attempting higher education within the semester system have betook this mentality, those assimilated thoughts and practices associated with this very concept. Sometimes I often crave structure. Within my sentences, in my mind. I don't know. Really. It might just be a scheme.

Anyhow, life is lovely and acceptable at this moment in time. Working my two jobs (Coffee Bean & Susiecakes) consumes 95% of my daily activity and intake. As with most of us humans, there is still an empty void that ceases to fill when I continue that process of thinking. I seek to travel, see new sites and faces. FEEL something new and enticing. All of that will come eventually, I suppose. Slowly, yet hopefully surely.

I have been slacking recently with the dream transcriptions. However, I do enjoy exercising my mind every Wednesday afternoon in a semi-hidden courtyard at the San Francisco Marina Library. Toddlers and babies alike frolic at the adjacent playground as I often sit and munch for a bit. Birds get frisky in the bushes and a middle aged man with a baseball cap typically accompanies me at a distant bench whilst examining a cigarette and mumbling nonsensical phrases under his breath. Middle and high school students bask in the sunshine, sharing kisses and admiration for their growing love interests.

It's all part of the privileged society congregating and splurging in some of life's teeny tiny pleasures, all under the blanket of San Francisco's mystical fog and sunshine. So simple, yet so magnificently brilliant and complex.

Well, I'm off to prepare myself for a OneRepublic concert. There's that temporary escape.

A rattle battle lined in a saddle map. WIND.

A spill of thoughts brought to you by an incoherent mind:
(my tired, cried-out brain will probably not form any substantial sentences so please pardon my grammar, or everything for that matter)

Soooo, there's a thought trickling down my spine, trickle trickle trickle. Needless to stay it's still there. The cherry blossoms bloom, die out. Fade out, boom. They're back. For now. Clouds fill the sky, followed by thunderous clouds and wisps of lightning striking the atmosphere, however high those volumous, gaseous bodies tower. My mind is a swimming ship, prepared for take off, yet the landing strip is blurred from the storm. Those stitches are to be sewn, mended for all the proper reasons. Trickle trickle trickle. Plump droplets begin to form, and those stitches build to form holes. HOLES, the size of 15 foot tidal waves. Tearing transpires. Down my face, across that fabricated mess. Responsibility is left at hand. We must mend those ruptured seams. Doe a deer, a female dear. These are a few of my favorite things. Pounding thoughts ripple throughout my cranium. Bouncing from side to hollow side like a damn racket ball court. Sorry is simply never the proper response, however, it is necessary. Scratches on the surface now tear into thick, bleeding wounds. No superglue, but stitches. Mending those wounds. Filling the tank. Watching the storm clouds subside for the runway, rising the sail for the wind to grasp. We shall see. Like the dead roses towering in the tin, hovering over the side with their lifeless tint. Strong, yet so lifeless. Like the wind. Sight. Touch. Tear. Mend.

LIKE THE DAMN WIND.