Today was an ice-in. That means I live in Texas. If mother nature sneezes, we close up shop. Continue reading
through my eyes
Until her eyes
A leather chair
soft, spongy carpet, curled up like a perm.
One hall, 4 bedrooms.
A kitchen –
where my Paw Paw is
making his peach milkshakes.
Foggy, faux-glass cups.
Ice cream and peach particles
sliding down the throat,
Golf on the TV –
more in tune with the wood furniture
than modern plastic.
An afternoon stretched out
like cloth on an ironing board.
Pressed, warm to the touch.
a pleasant nap.
My Paw Paw in his white undershirt
whispy, disappearing white hair
and craggy nose.
Eyes as dark as wise.
Let me tell you a little story about a time when I failed.
Guru is a weird word. Self-professing yourself as one is even weirder, perhaps the weirdest. Especially in industries that are bizarre chaos – technology and social media for example – the term guru (re: the popular expert) is laughable. An ever-changing industry, shifting its paradigm overnight at times, is not the place for someone finding comfort in being the expert.
As Tyler Durden would say:
“May I never be complete. May I never be content. May I never be perfect.”
I like tinkering with ideas. I like curiosities.