I see these faces that have had “life” slapped across them so many times they no longer feel anything unless it is shoved into their mouths and they don't even know how to pull their lips tight enough to not let it all in.
These are the grey-skinned 50 year olds asking how to introduce more vegetables into their diet. But that's not what they really want. These are the mouths that are so hungry for home they will feed it anything to not have to turn their teeth around and taste themselves.
So more protein, fewer carbs, balance fats and then why did YOU come here and what are YOU doing? And maybe you don't even ask yourself this in the quiet of your own bathroom in the stillness of bath water and the simplicity of gravity moving beads of water down bent knees.
But maybe there is a small and delicate part of you that must ask this to take each subsequent breath because if not, then why?
What good are a billion people on soil and rocks walking, doing, more, more, more?
It’s all the same in the end right? A eulogy an epitaph a mark on the earth--“this is where I was.”
I don't know the truth but I do know I can’t waste more than several breaths without trying to find it again and again. It’s those empty conversations, the “How are you doings?” the spreadsheets lining out all the next steps or the emails with more questions to answer--that leave me like a vacuum, internally. Pulsing slowly until I can come up for air again within my own skin.
I notice this about myself, that often I will stop just short of everything and turn back around.
It’s like ill drive cross country from one shore to the next and just before hitting the last state line, ill veer off the exit ramp and end up in some podunk bar ordering shitty beer. Then ill wake up the next day with a hangover and forget it all happened until once again I’m there, next to wall hangings of old 70’s actors and the sound of Shania Twain and it’ll be like oh yea “hasn't this happened before?”-- deja vu.