The express train blurred the faces of all the passengers. Judy stood on the platform waiting for the subway to stop. As it slowed every panel window revealed an imaged of a delicate, rumpled thing, the dry pastel a caked reminder of Greensboro Park buried behind the procession of the wild city. She was vaguely aware of a boy behind her, but the sliding door closed and she was gone.—from an unnamed short story by peter an
I feel like I’ve gone so far away from how I used to write. Things are now sharper, less magical. The ideal and the long hair of a young boy with summer skin recedes every year. I wonder what I’ll write about next year. If by 50 everyone has the face that they deserve, I hope my writing will deserve the same. And it’ll be beautiful.
Fidel Castro photographed by Romano Cagnoni. Chile, 1972
are you a visionary
The Real Hard Choice
It only takes a few sweet notes for someone to instantly recognize a love song.
Three notes are all that’s needed to realize a love song.
Three notes and it’s a love song.
Three notes; love song.
Give me the lightbox and I will show you everything there is to see.
What should happen when the structured walls holding a simple life, a cat and mouse game, come bolstering down. Will I be brave enough to follow what compels me, to leave what comforts me, and to learn all there is to know? I’d like to think that there is adventure out there. It’s a warm thought, heroic to a point and where I’ll emerge the winner to everything I’ve ever dreamed of. But I know. The real adventure is a struggle. It is the hungry and battled reach of human life that enables a person to see the glimpse of heaven.
When there are things I quickly discover, and the knowledge profoundly reduces a loving ideal of mine, those are things I love the most. There are those I see daily with a life pattern that is not difficult to judge. A routine, a lock of hair tucked behind the same ear, over weeks and months become almost as predictable as the weather. It’s really funny, to see someone stuck behind a wall of predicability. But I do not go out of my way for spontaneity. I only am a willing participant to the curiosity that compels me. I can’t see any further than the next person, but I have a vision and sometimes that’s more powerful than all of it.