February 9
READY
Ready or not here it comes: life on terms of its own. Bracing for the onslaught of gravity I grip too well the implements of past days. Fearing the pressure, I lay in my shallow grave, the ground having been scooped out by hand. Withering from expectation, my blood runs slow and dark, reducing to coagulated futility, losing my life in anticipation of death. Attempts at being less as means of protection fail. Less is not a solution; fading does not make life more livable. It makes me unavailable. Readiness is my responsibility; it is momentary. Momentary is sufficient. Sobriety is nothing more than lining myself up with the needs of this instant. I need go no further. Whole solutions, not my department. Showing up, dressed and washed, ball and bat in hand if possible, but just making it to the line up is my full time job. Even if I never swing, it is still better than being buried in the field.
Put a joke in your pocket.
Monday, February 9, 2009
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