An old friend who claimed he knew how to read palms said that he could tell from my lines that I was the type to mark out the black and white in things: the right from wrong, the good from bad. I certainly was aware of them, but that didn't mean that each time I wouldn't take the plunge in the murky gray in-betweens. So here is a series made up of four parts (tentatively: Work, Weekend, Wile, Want), which as I am writing this makes sense as the four great oceans of gray that I have been swimming in.
Every time I finish work at the office I tell myself: now the real work begins. Every time I turn that key, I expect to hear wings.
But as a writer (I still not dare call myself a "poet") with a day job and lots of time in my hands, I have only drifted further and further way. At the very least, this blog helps me keep my grounding.
I have run to one distraction after another, abandoning each like a suspect from a crime scene.
It got worse and worse until at one point my day job became the deer facing the headlights.
Good thing I had the sense to run away.
Lace-ups, Doc Martens
Fortunately or unfortunately, running away is something I've become very good at.
Every time I look back, all I see are tracks. (Now that I think of it, couldn't I see myself as an over-indulgent journalist hungry for material?)
It is quite impossible to answer that question. Too many things after the fact. Everything is work, and all toil keeps the ball rolling (or the broth boiling).
Important thing is I'm still here and so are you.
Photography by Jullian Mendoza