seen from Poland
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seen from United States
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seen from China
Mourning and being physically lost are an interesting coupling. Mourning has a meandering inherent and being geographically unguided always feels grandly overwhelming. Yesterday she was both and she weathered the storm with: some water, an apple and granola. She found her destination of sorts.
- carousal vacation
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Sometimes it can be difficult to have big dreams and live within a land where people hang their dreams upon a post wielding them as a scarecrow to scare themselves into submission.
-My Thoughts As Typed
The Man Who Sleeps Upon Wooden Floors
He came over, He had walked. He smelt of alcohol.
He called her an asshole. Not once or a few times... Many.
He punched at her sides playfully.
That was not play to her, that was aggressive misery.
He objectified her body... "Damn you look hot."
"Nah, but fo' real... you look hot why won't you be with me?"
He horrified her mind.
He spoke of killing kittens... of throwing them to burst their heads.
He continually inquired, "why won't you just date me?"
"Why would friendship not be good enough?" She questioned.
He refused to eat and fell asleep upon a wooden floor.
He awoke and requested a ride to buy beer prior to be taken home.
She drove him so he wouldn't walk into town and stumble to his country home.
A drunk Indian was not a sacred object to most, but a stereotypical joke.
His liquid bread did not make him drunk, it fueled his motivation: He was "dieing to live."
He was sacred to her, she valued him as a human and wondered when he would be the friend she gave him credit as.
She drove him home and refrained from hugging as her spirit instructed her: It would be too much contact for the occasion.
If only he knew it took everything she had to hold back a hug from a man unwilling to be kind with who he was and what he gave.
Within that hug (which would not occur but within her hopes) she wished he could feel her human care but she knew better.
Within that hug he would hope for something which would never be.
The man who sleeps upon wooden floors and generally speaks in the harshest of truths, she loved him as a human for the last 13 years.
She had spoken with him more so than she had spoken to most/many.
The man who sleeps upon wooden floors, when he requested she sing within a car, she would do so and he would listen. She figured someday she would have to write a song about him.
Perhaps this was it.
The man who sleeps upon wooden floors and plays with blades in hallways... you are loved by she... never however in the way you would wish to be.
If that made her an asshole... she realized, indeed she was!
She said goodnight and she meant every word.
The next day he was turned away as she hadn't the strength to be called such names.
If that made her an asshole... she was sorry.
She hoped to see him change his world someday.
She hoped next time he would eat dinner.
She hoped he would be a friend to her as she was to him.
She hoped when he called her, "Grandma" that he would soon start respecting his elders!
