Darkness vs Black Hole

Sundays are tough for people who are sad.

It is the one day before the week starts again.

It is the day you feel obliged to make the most of.

It is the day when the world expects you to be happy.

And yet, it is often the saddest day of the week for you when you are sad.

Sadness need not be a black hole that swallows you and everything that goes with it.

Sadness is darkness.

All it takes is a match, a torch, or a lone star to light your way back.

I love the darkness for it shows me the stars. And the moon.

I hope this makes you smile in your darkness too, if you are having a particularly sad Sunday.

Ass vs. Class

Never sink down to their level is what I say to myself.

As Mark Twain once said, “Never argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.”

Classiness is not letting them get to you.

Entering a conversation with an ass is the quickest way to become one.

One of those days…

Today has been one of those days.

Anxiety gnaws at you like a dull ache you cannot shake.

Everything always works out fine in the end.

Then why is it that we need to torture ourselves with such useless emotions?

(Drawing from back in 2012. A recurring theme.)

My Sea to Your Shore

Like sea to the shore.

High tide, low tide.

Up close. Far away.

Ebb and flow.

Love is knowing that there are bright days and dark nights.

Love is knowing that oceans exist because there are shores.

Good Morning

All they had left were a few simple words.

A few simple words were all that they needed.

Time, give me time.

Time is all we’ve got.

And time is all we can give.

If someone can’t even give you their time, you know you’re not important to them.

If someone says, I do care but I’m just too busy, that’s just fucking horseshit.

#FHS #fuckinghorseshit  #notsoluminous

 

Impermanence 

Take out the flowers

Throw out the dirty water

Rinse out the vase

Put it away

René Ricard (1979-1980)
Everyday is a new day.
How cliché. How true.

Except I dried those flowers and locked them in a state of semi-permanence.

Cherry blossoms and its impermanence are a cruel but beautiful reminder of how fickle, fragile and finite our emotions can be. As we watch them wilt and scatter, we stand and gaze with the hope of seeing the same beauty and magnificence again one day. We cannot do the same for certain things in life. 

This René Ricard poem. Its brutal simplicity speaks such truth.

A mundane act of cleaning out a vase could hold such significance.

Either that, or I am being overly dramatic and sensitive these days. Fucking hormones. And general exhaustion.