The feeling I get around these old children…
It’s like a good bike ride.
You leave the house knowing you’ll get a workout, and you don’t have to drive, you don’t have to deal with cops.
No anxiety. Inspiring buzz.
What I mean is, the feeling… it’s like a secret club or something.
A renegade peace march.
A means to a bend.
This is something I can’t describe to my father who was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
The ocean to him is a scary place, full of things that can eat you.
This feeling is something that came to me, for many reasons not worth getting into.
But it’s here. Still.
It came. Luckily.
And now? I’m here, too.
I look around and I see marvelous personalities.
The coloring book of God is in this room, and he has been coloring inside and outside of the lines.
They’re all around you.
These abstract wanderlusts teach the bizarre and the traditional. They motor the boat.
They water the flowers.
Normal? A fad. Designed by the emotionless, the funk fearing.
Give thanks and praises.
A wise man once said, “If you have nothing to give it all, give your gratitude.”
Gratitude attracts what we most desire, the tools to experience joy.
And, I need my medicine for my soul. These are my doctors, our doctors. And they have but one prescription, joy.
Reciprocity I say. Be here, next year. Tell them.
We need them, and they need us. We drive them, they drive us.
They make toys for big boys.
Big big boys.
They are my favorite children.
Art, worthy of appreciation.
Quietly they exist amongst the masses.
That shit eating grin?
I could never describe to my father. How could I?
“They’re just happy to be alive,” he’d say, as if every time we jump in the water, we narrowly avoid death.
What is chaos to the fly, is normal to the spider.
But they are my idols. Subtly, true.
With conviction, and passion, and laughter that so very few can understand.
They proceed. Because what else is there?
Think of what has been done.
And what can be.