Poor Youth

A patient on dialysis has a filtration system on "E". The kidneys perform minimally if at all. That rating in a hospital is "4" on a scale of five. Meaning: A five has zero filtration capacity...a four has minimal and anything below a 1.5 is expected. My brother was stricken so was my aunt and my cousin--taken out before the value of life was known. My doctor is concerned..wondering if my level--"1.4" is my level or a sign of impending doom. I'm not worried because what will be will be. That's how I think to stay out of a bad situation.

I had a dream the other night that took my belief away. I must believe in something when evil lurks in the room. We all pray to some God when time comes up...runs up. I felt that feeling and continue to live a life more abundantly. What you own here becomes your labor when you leave here. I need not reap a shitty crop. I'd rather change the world and expand my chances of living forever. We live through one another, I think, and as a result we cannot accept change without trial upon trial to prove it true. At 25, I've realized enough to let go of the trivialities in life that blind you from the nature of life...tribulation. I'm ready to ride the wave and behave in a manner that maintains a consistent persona.

So, growing old has reminded me that I was once, very recently, a person looking for a persona. Kids are roaming throughout the street looking for the next look. I have no aspirations to influence, but I'm often saddened by the product. I'm an elitist and when confronted with realism on a non-militaristic level I am often inarticulate. I must be clear, now, and say that I understand my discontent...I feel a harangue and embrace it with reluctant hands. Time is less important in a realization that nothing matters. I am not a nihilist, but I respect the denotation...perhaps I yearn to be it. I am lost and the most aware I've ever been on earth. Losing a life allows you to accept it. I am losing it constantly and becoming surprisingly complacent with the thought. If I become nothing then everything I do possesses a level of importance that once lay dormant. I can recreate myself with my shallow, fleeting and often useless, youth. My youth is my vessel if I chose to embrace the journey.

Marcus is back in town and I think I'm ready to leap. If he is, then why not me? Exactly. I am excited--ready to become a changed man and changed I am. So how changed will I become when I cease to be a "me" and just "be?"

Excited to find my poor youth...I am.

Poor Mother

It was April 16th, I was at the Rite Aid down the street from work. I looked down the aisle of cards with a few envelopes strewn about and decided to find my mother's birthday card. In the moment, solemn, I realized I had never purchased a birthday card for her. In third grade, I think I made one out of shitty cardboard, imitation antique paper and globs of glue bursting from every corner and oozing from under all the cut out images slapped on half-assed. Well, to be fair, I was 8, but still that was the last time.

What did I do this time, though? I repeated history. I replaced a sloppily created, yet thoughtful card with a glossy, mass produced product that involved little to no thought. All I had to do was drop it into a mailbox, any mailbox...literally. I sent it from my job, or so I thought, only to find out three days ago that it never left the building.

I never sent it.

Slapped between two pages in a text book I haven't touched in a month is a card, neatly sealed with calligraphy on the front.

Poor Mother.

Rewind to April 19th.

I'm bragging about it, too. "Oh yeah, Ma. Expect something in the mail this week." She's astonished, touched a bit and reluctant to show it, "You have a wedding to plan...don't send me anything."

Thought: It's a card, Ma, it's a card--relax.

I smoothly explained that I had finally shown some decency as a son--I sent my mother a physical manifestation of my affection.

And it never showed up.

My affection is late, half-assed and at best a farce as any manifestation of any love I may feel. Perhaps its more of an indication of some love that may be lacking. Why did I do that?

I don't know and I have no clue as of yet.

But I do know that it's Mother's Day tomorrow and I'm definitely dreading the call. I'm wondering if this is normal and I'm wondering why...

Poor Mother.

Poor Raindrops,

I realized today, drinking coffee and smoking baliswag self-rolled smoking bliss that I am highly contemplative. I have no time to write--I make no time to write--I reckon. Hence, the long duration between the last post and this one. The summer was one of triumph and since then I've realized that summer, dear summer is fleeting. Raindrops are pouring from the heavens foreshadowing another year of thought, action and ends. I'm getting married, during the raining season in South Africa and I wonder. It seems so far away. The raindrops. Poor raindrops washing away the old and replenishing the new. What a job! I can't wait to see these raindrops go in the city of bites and embrace the rain dance in the motherland. Maybe my poor blog posts can be these--mere autobiographical sketchings--I don't know. I'm still thinking, raindrops--I'm still dreaming.