I walk through my complex to start my jog several times a week. It’s still dark out, and I begin my run near the big tree across from the leasing office.
In the morning the sky is pretty because I can still see the stars, and I usually spot a constellation or two.
Today, the man was not yet outside smoking. I see him when I go by his home, on the corner where I turn to head down the block to the park. This morning his paper was still in his driveway.
The other day I saw him, having apparently returned from 7-Eleven across the street. He held his bag of groceries, and he flicked on a small flashlight and began reading headlines near his garage door while his paper was still in its wrapper, which I thought was peculiar. He was squinting and trying to make out the words through the plastic.
Most times the man nods when he sees me pass.
He is tall and older and wears a ball cap when he comes out to smoke. With that hat on and his demeanor and style of dress, he looks like he should live in the country and be on a John Deere.
The other morning, when it was chilly, he said, “Beautiful out.” I was running by with my hood on. “I wish it would stay like this,” I replied.
He then stared across the street at the horizon over the buildings, like he often does, as the sky reddened with dawn.
I had a nightmare the moon smoldered and spun, then fell out of orbit. Afterward, I wondered about the consequences, but I did not immediately feel adverse effects. I knew they would come, though, since I’d been told the moon holds sway over the oceans and such, and by extension, factors in as far as human behavior — what with us consisting of up to 60 percent water. That’s according to the US Geological Survey.
Recently I had a flat tire, so I had to join AAA on the spot. They charged me an extra fee because normally you have to wait a certain period before requesting assistance. But it was cheaper than calling a tow truck. I had initially pulled over at a gas station and attempted to fill my tire with air, but I couldn’t revive it: My dashboard said the pressure remained at 0.00 percent.
Thinking about both these things, I drew a connection. I surmised the message was my life was out of balance.
What about who I am or what. I’m not sure how many people think in terms of “what” when they consider their identity, but do you think of “what” often, or is it more like “who?” We might consider a little of both. It seems that the what is more like which labels apply, or what do you feel like in relation to them. And who might be ego or your archived past. I can’t find labels that suit me most of the time. Weirdo maybe. Or unorthodox. Or strange. Politically correct I am unique. Interesting.
I feel like nothing. I have empty inside me but it feels nice. This is the joy of dumbness, or being struck dumb. I am dumb in the face of the mysteries of the universe. I cannot comprehend. I “understand” the universe spiritually but it ends there. Nothing else really registers, though a good Thai meal or a noteworthy cup of coffee or a poem will resonate. Good music like the unplugged jazz I listen to or certain classical music, like Beethoven or Schumann piano pieces or Schubert trios. Chopin and etc.
My house is like a religious house. No one here is religious but it is constantly quiet with us reading or thinking or daydreaming or sleeping or eating. My cat is loud enough to make up for the rest of us.
i read a few poems, then check facebook.
no one has liked my photo yet.
my cat is cleaning herself again,
looking perfectly content —
despite the repetition of her existence.
She wears a mona lisa smile 24/7.