Waking up, I knew that today I could get whatever I want.
Drinking two cups of Yorkshire Gold on an empty stomache further compels this belief.
People and events that would once depress me in their perceived value, change and I feel free.
So I treat myself to breakfast at the magnificent Owl Sprit. French toast with walnuts, raisins and yogurt. Warm coffee that tastes like chocolate and berries (every hipster’s accent to the neo-bohemian lifestyle).
On my way I drive through the boatyard, past the monolith insect that pullys seacraft from the water so little men can inspect her hull, watch the infinite parralax of masts foresting the docks.
Three girls chatter about iPhone skins and boys (who’s fucking who, who wants to fuck who), football and celebrities.
I converse with the owner, impeccable gentleman with a full colorful beard, we talk about fiber and business.
Next are only possibilities, seeming many but instead are few and illusory…
Waking to write, and watch Jack Frost work his winter touch.
In Nature we see there is no story, that every legend, fable, myth is desperate.
Sometimes I wake up hopeful in the morning.
My people call...
Flashcards. New schema for new territory.
After the musk and scent of sweat and desperate breath...
Somedays you either laugh or cry unintentionally.
The lull of Salish swaying below me.
I live in a beautiful little corner on the blue planet.