I dream of worlds that come and go

Where I know I don't belong

But every day I wish to leave even though I know it's wrong

I see the places in my mind, the people that are there

I want so bad to leave my world and live without a care

It hurts to think about the ones that I would leave behind

But I think that they'd be better off without my neurotic mind

The person that I could be

If I could find a way to free

The spark inside of me

That no one else can see

I know it's not the right thing, for me to cast away

Everything I could ever be, just to go astray

Always I can feel it, the ever present siren song

It calls to me and says it's okay, even though I know it's wrong

I can never find it in myself to answer it's seductive call

But if that ever happens, and if I ever fall

Just know I'll love you always, and it will never be your fault

This world, it may not be for me

But for now I am still here

I will do whatever I can and I will always be near

I don't want this to hurt you, I just need someone to know

I always feel this weight on me, even if it doesn't show

I know it shouldn't be this hard, to just be here and exist

I guess it tends to help when I know that I'd be missed

Anyway, it's getting late, the dreams are calling me

Maybe now I'll get some sleep, since I've set my feelings free

I'll always love you father, I hope that's never been in doubt

I'll leave you here, but never fear

I'm okay, peace out✌

In that surreal paradise,

between

asleep and waking,

in suspended animation,

a Soul whose faith

had not yet been shaken,

I crouched above

the world

saw paths I had

never taken...

Schrödinger Flirting

November 07, 2024

My piano skills are better than most. Her singing skills are above reproach. I write the songs she sings. She makes the songs she sings into classics.

When we perform, I am in love with her, and she outwardly shows her love for me.

When we are anywhere else, I am in love with her, but she does not outwardly show her love for me.

I do not know if her flirting is real. I do not know when she touches me or gives me that look if she means what that look means. It is not that I am not thankful for her affection. I just want a clear cut signal from her when I reciprocate.

If my hand drifts over her hand, does this mean she enjoys the attention when she both smiles and pulls away? When I write my heart out in the lyrics she sings, will she take the next step, no longer requiring my lyrics?

In a nutshell, is she in love or not? The switch has two settings, not one with both? I want to move forward with a woman who can move and not move at the same time.

I am not a cat. I want her to look in the box. See if I am still in the box. See if I am still alive.

Last Night at the Bridge Table

November 06, 2024

Last night, I played bridge with three other people. We partnered by our economic/political/religious viewpoints. My partner learns to the right. Our opponents lean to the left. We began in earnest, despite my obvious objections, promptly at 8 pm.

My first hand consisted of 21 points and I opened the bidding with 1 no trump. My opponent smirked and asked me to repeat my bid three more times for his enjoyment.

The news was on at the time, albeit on mute.

It was still early.

During the second hand, my partner laid the spade deuce on a trick consisting of the ace of hearts (led), and the 4 and 8 of hearts (followed).

My opponent seemed befuddled at the presence of the spade deuce. He seemed even more annoyed upon losing the trick. He was in danger of going down on a confident bid. His partner was sure they would prevail. My partner and I had our reservations. The bridge table is not the place for trash talking. Small, polite conversations create the chit chat for the evening.

At least, in theory.

The clock read 10 pm. The TV displayed two Americas; one in partial blue, one in partial red.

During the next hand, we bid and made a small slam. I let the winning tricks populate the entirety of the center of the bridge table for all to see. The single remaining trick meandered at the edge (left coast or right coast) as defined by perspective only.

The penultimate hand created an opportunity for my opponents to bid and win a grand slam. Unfortunately for them, we held too many trump cards despite their equally large holding of such. At the bridge table, when one recognizes a gap in a card sequence (King-Jack against an opponent’s holding of Queen-10), they attempt to finesse through the gap (play the Jack in the hope the earlier opponent does not play their Queen). This play works well against an inexperienced opponent. Rarely does it work twice. Even if millions of spectators tell the players the finesse will always work, it is best not to believe such hype.

The clock now read midnight. The TV reporters spun yarns of hope and slim possibilities.

By 2 am, everyone knew of the inevitable. Too many points on one side of the tally sheet became insurmountable for any opponent to overcome. No one required a calculator to validate the point count. No one asked for a rematch. All parties understood it was time to depart the bridge table, get some sleep, and begin the arduous clean up process required in the morning.

No bitter words. No unruly looks. The children who had school in the morning slept soundly knowing the grownups would return to normalcy at dawn.

For some, the memory of any defeat would last forever. Perhaps next time, if there ever was to be a next time, a better partner would shoulder more of the load. Perhaps a bit more experience with local bridge enthusiasts would reap more productive results at a later time.

Perhaps something else.

We may never know.

I let you shoot my second arrow

It was supposed to be mine

To mold and shape

as I needed

I handed it to you

You shot

Forever distorting the senses

of illusion I created

I was supposed to choose how to

feel and react to the first arrow

Still I chose you

not knowing it was poisoned

before you shot

Mirror holds

stranger's eyes —

both blink first

Time dissolves

in glass pools:

hours drown watching

Face wears

different masks:

all tell truth

Past lives

behind pupils —

future stares back

Wrinkles map

roads untaken:

skin keeps score

Years stack

in corners:

eyes grow heavy

Mirror whispers

ancient names:

memory drowns now

Glass ripples

with questions:

answers sink deep

Self splinters

into decades:

which one's real?

Reflection holds

longer talks

than reality allows

Morning finds

night's ghosts

still searching glass

The 2nd Half Bucket List - Castells

October 04, 2024

This picture does not do this activity justice.

I am going to Barcelona, the Barcelona province, the Balearic Islands, or any place where they speak Catalan, and participate in building a Castell.

This will rival somewhere between running into a burning building and walking a tightrope 40 feet off the ground.

Hemingway’s got nothing on me.

The Candy Store is Closed for the Weekend

September 27, 2024

I turned the bolt precisely at 5pm on Friday

School had only let out 2 hours prior

It would be financial suicide not to remain open

Especially since today was payday

But what I was selling was not what I advertised

The children could locate candy bars and bubble gum elsewhere

My wares have infinitely more value

Both to the seller and the buyer

The first call came in at 6pm

His voice wanted a dime on Huckleberry in the 4th

I record in dry erase

In case the law wishes to audit my books

Seven more call for Huckleberry in the 4th

All seven wagered in multiple of dimes

To the uninitiated

The Roosevelt equates to ten Franklins

The odds were three to one

After leaving the paddock

The odds increased to four

At the start, they lingered near five

I can cover my losses

I expect others to do as I do

No other wagers arrived before the gates opened

I unplugged the phone for the next 2 minutes

Huckleberry finished first

Eight of my customers received PayPal transfers

I kept the phone unplugged

In lieu of my losses

The Candy Store is Closed for the Weekend

Signage on Saturday morning meaning more than it displays

Hoops on Saturday helped balance back to black

Pigskins on Sunday pushed me into a profit once more

Never underestimate the power of recent paychecks

Being squandered foolishly on a hope and dream

Never believe those who say, “Just one more time.”

For it is never the last time - Of that I am certain

The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting Lake Ethereal in hues of orange and pink. As the last rays of light faded, two translucent figures emerged from the mist that clung to the water's surface. Whisper and Echo, once avid water skiers in life, now haunted the lake in death, unable to let go of their passion.

Whisper, a wispy silhouette of a young woman, glided across the glassy surface. Her ethereal hair streamed behind her as she effortlessly maneuvered through the placid water. Echo, a tall, slender apparition, followed close behind, his ghostly form leaving no wake.

"Race you to Phantom Point!" Whisper called out, her voice a faint echo on the evening breeze.

Echo grinned, accepting the challenge. The two spectral skiers surged forward, their forms barely disturbing the water's surface. They zipped past weathered docks and slumbering boats, reveling in the freedom of their nightly ritual.

As they neared Phantom Point, a jagged outcropping of rocks that jutted into the lake, Echo noticed a disturbance in the water. A small motorboat, its engine sputtering, drifted dangerously close to the rocks. Two figures huddled inside, their faces etched with fear.

"Whisper, look!" Echo called out, pointing toward the struggling vessel.

Whisper turned, her competitive spirit instantly replaced by concern. "We have to help them!"

The ghosts changed course, gliding swiftly toward the boat. As they approached, they could see a young couple frantically trying to restart the engine. The man, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, yanked on the starter cord with increasing desperation. The woman, her blonde hair whipping in the wind, scanned the shoreline for any sign of help.

"They can't see us," Whisper reminded Echo as they drew near. "How can we help?"

Echo's brow furrowed in concentration. "Maybe we can guide them away from the rocks."

The ghosts positioned themselves on either side of the boat, their spectral forms barely visible in the gathering darkness. With gentle pushes and nudges, they began to steer the vessel away from danger.

Inside the boat, the couple felt a sudden shift. "Jake, did you feel that?" the woman asked, her eyes wide.

Jake nodded, his hand still on the starter cord. "It's like... something's pushing us."

"But there's no current here," she replied, her voice trembling.

As Whisper and Echo continued to guide the boat, they noticed a change in the water's temperature. The lake, usually cool and inviting, began to warm unnaturally. Steam rose from the surface, creating an eerie fog that enveloped the boat and its spectral saviors.

"What's happening?" Whisper asked, her form flickering as the steam passed through her.

Echo shook his head, equally puzzled. "I don't know, but we need to get them to shore fast."

The ghosts redoubled their efforts, pushing the boat with all their spectral might. As they neared the shoreline, a deep, rumbling voice echoed across the water.

"WHO DARES DISTURB THE SLUMBER OF LAKE ETHEREAL?"

Whisper and Echo exchanged alarmed glances. In all their years haunting the lake, they had never encountered anything like this.

From the depths of the lake, a massive, serpentine form began to rise. Scales gleaming in the moonlight, the creature towered over the boat and its ghostly guardians. Eyes like molten gold fixed upon the terrified couple and the spectral skiers.

"It's the Lake Guardian," Echo whispered in awe. "I thought it was just a legend."

The Lake Guardian's gaze softened as it regarded Whisper and Echo. "Ah, the Spectral Skiers. You have watched over these waters for many moons. Why do you bring these living ones into my domain?"

Whisper moved forward, her form shimmering with determination. "Great Guardian, these humans were in danger. We only sought to help them reach safety."

The serpentine creature considered this, its ancient eyes studying the trembling couple in the boat. "The living have their own world. They do not belong here in the twilight realm."

"Please," Echo pleaded, "allow us to guide them back to shore. We promise to keep your existence a secret."

The Lake Guardian remained silent for a long moment, steam swirling around its massive form. Finally, it spoke. "Very well. But know this: your actions have consequences. To maintain the balance between the world of the living and the realm of spirits, a price must be paid."

With those ominous words, the Lake Guardian sank back into the depths, leaving behind a wake of churning water and mist.

Whisper and Echo wasted no time in pushing the boat to shore. As the hull scraped against the pebbly beach, Jake and his companion scrambled out, falling to their knees on solid ground.

"What... what was that?" the woman gasped, her eyes wild with fear and wonder.

Jake shook his head, unable to form words. He pulled her close, both of them shaking as they tried to process what they had experienced.

Whisper and Echo hovered nearby, invisible to the couple but acutely aware of the change that had come over the lake. The water churned with an otherworldly energy, and the mist seemed to pulse with an eerie, greenish light.

"We should go," Echo said softly. "The Guardian spoke of consequences."

Whisper nodded, casting one last glance at the shaken couple. "I hope they'll be okay."

As the ghosts glided back onto the lake, they felt a strange tugging sensation. The water, once their playground, now seemed to resist their presence. Their spectral forms flickered and wavered, as if struggling to maintain their shape.

"Echo, what's happening to us?" Whisper cried out, her voice growing fainter.

Echo reached for her hand, his own form becoming increasingly transparent. "I think... I think this is the price the Guardian spoke of."

As they watched, their ghostly bodies began to dissolve into the mist. Panic gripped them as they felt their consciousnesses start to fade.

"No!" Whisper shouted, fighting against the pull of oblivion. "We can't just disappear! We have to protect the lake!"

In that moment of desperation, something extraordinary happened. Instead of dissipating completely, their essences began to merge with the lake itself. They felt their awareness expand, spreading out across the water, into every wave and ripple.

Gradually, the panic subsided, replaced by a sense of wonder and belonging. They were no longer just ghosts haunting the lake; they had become part of it.

"Echo?" Whisper called out, her voice now indistinguishable from the lapping of waves on the shore.

"I'm here," came the reply, carried on the evening breeze. "We're... everywhere."

As their consciousness settled into this new state of being, Whisper and Echo realized the true nature of their transformation. They had become the new guardians of Lake Ethereal, tasked with protecting both the living and the spirits that called these waters home.

In the days that followed, Jake and his girlfriend, Emily, tried to make sense of their extraordinary experience on the lake. They told their story to anyone who would listen, speaking of mysterious forces that saved them from certain doom and a glimpse of something ancient and powerful in the water.

Most dismissed their tale as the product of fear and an overactive imagination. But a few listened with wonder, and soon, whispered stories of the haunted Lake Ethereal began to spread.

Tourists and thrill-seekers flocked to the lake, hoping to catch a glimpse of the legendary Lake Guardian or the ghostly water skiers. But Whisper and Echo, now one with the water, kept the lake's secrets safe. They guided lost boats to shore, calmed treacherous waters during storms, and maintained the delicate balance between the world of the living and the realm of spirits.

On quiet nights, when the moon hung low over the water, locals swore they could hear the faint laughter of two young spirits, still reveling in their eternal water skiing adventure. And sometimes, if one looked closely, they might catch a glimpse of two shimmering forms skimming across the surface of Lake Ethereal, leaving no wake but sending ripples of magic through the water.

Jake and Emily eventually married, building a small cabin on the shores of Lake Ethereal. They became the lake's unofficial caretakers, working to preserve its natural beauty and sharing carefully curated stories of its magic with those who would appreciate them.

Years passed, and the legend of the Spectral Skiers grew. Children played at being ghost water skiers, and local artists captured the ethereal beauty of the lake in paintings and photographs. Through it all, Whisper and Echo watched over their beloved waters, their love for each other and for Lake Ethereal as eternal as the cycles of the moon reflected on its surface.

And so, the story of two ghosts who loved to water ski became a tale of transformation, protection, and the enduring power of passion. Whisper and Echo had found their true purpose, not just as spirits clinging to a past life, but as integral parts of the natural world, guardians of the delicate balance between realms.

Their story served as a reminder to all who visited Lake Ethereal that magic exists in the world for those willing to see it, and that love—for a place, a passion, or a person—can transcend even the boundaries between life and death.

As the sun sets each evening on Lake Ethereal, painting the sky in brilliant hues, two shimmering forms can sometimes be seen gliding across the golden waters. And those lucky enough to witness this spectacle are left with a sense of wonder and a story they'll carry with them for the rest of their lives—a story of two ghosts who water skied their way into legend and found, in the end, that their greatest adventure was just beginning.

Ineffable

September 22, 2024

The colors

More than the spectrum

Colors between colors

Colors without names

Colors seen nowhere else

The tranquility

Silence at negative decibels

Holding still

Almost posing

Perfectly undisturbed

The majesty

Heaven above

Meets Earth below

Synchronicity

Woven at the interface

The longevity

A comb swept stunning beauty

Not long for this world

Out of time with appreciation

My limerence object