To: Where, From: Here
Wrote myself a beautiful letter in the form of a question, signed “To: Where, From: Here.” Certainly, my uncertainty was addressed in this letter. I wasn’t asking “where?” but “where in time?” were things much better. Recently I’ve read and bled upon the unthinkable - how as people we are magnetized to when we’ve felt invincible. Can I invest in the future for those same feelings sent to me, or will I be imprisoned by memories that sentence me? Academically I’m sharper, and I’m more fit than I’ve ever been. Why is it that can’t toast and feel like the celebrant? Am I afraid of what the future holds, or do I just know that it holds fear, cause I know I’m not afraid to hold old reputations near. Coward to the open pasture, I’ve been gnawing on the last years. Not stuck between the hands of time, but tangled in its back gears.
Dear Where, I don’t fuck with When and I don’t fuck with How, I’m Here now in this nasty, twisted, and restless point of time, and You are all I am concerned with.
The cold ocean never felt so warm, the waves of her beauty crashing endlessly to my lungs. (at Redondo Pier)