Random Acts of Awesome

A Hymn Of Praise To Death Beautiful Death! I sing thee as one has sung Whose song like mine from the depths of his being was wrung; I sing thee as I have seen thee behind the cloud Which folds thee from hourly sight as a corpse in its shroud; I sing thee, veiled one, because of thy face, unknown To many, the beauty benignant to me has been shown. Angel of change and of progress, Angel of peace, Who bringest God's order in time for the soul's release; Shadowy presence that turning Love's day to night Gives us a glimpse of the starry infinite Angel of Hope and Revealing, God's minister, Silent and secret in service that knows not to err; Though from their side thou hast taken the life of their life, Folded in sleep, there have been who have rested from strife, Yielded their all at the last to thy tenderer care, Sought not a word or a sign of farewell for their share; Followed thee, gentle one, gone with thee into the night, Followed thee, holy one, come

There is a loadstone hidden in my belly, way down deep. Muffled under layers of fat and unease, wrapped around tight with false comfort and ridiculous needs. It burns hot and bright underneath those layers, though. And it pulls, always pulls, magnetic due happy. It jerks me about like a marionette on broken strings, lifting a leg here and an arm there, never in sync. But always, always forward. I can feel it burning its way up under my breastbone now. I think it was startled into action by the knowledge that this sort of life is actually possible. The kind of life it never believed in. The kind of life that kills you slowly through boredom and ephemeral depth. It sneaks up on you like hypothermia, this slow death life. It lulls you to sleep in the pillowy snow bank, lying to you about warmth and comfort, convincing you that the effort required to get up and BE just isn't necessary. Look! You can be right here, with this second choice life! It's enough, it's enough. It

Watching a young, mentally unstable homeless woman interacting with a phonebooth, and I can almost feel her fear. It's disconcerting, watching her bang at the change slot multiple times, like the harder she flips it the more likely it is to produce spare change. Now she's given up at that, and has instead picked up the phone itself and is cradling it to her ear, pretending to talk into it. It's so obviously a connection to reality for her, and it's bringing tears to my eyes, this need of hers to have someone to call. She's huddled in on herself, trying to ignore the people passing by and staring at her. She's close enough that I can hear her when she speaks, but she's just muttering unintelligiblely and sporadically. I want to invite her to come sit next to me, to feel safe for a minute. But this isn't the kind of fear that would go away with the temporary illusion of safety. I can feel it building up in myself, the more I watch her. I can feel her b

Strength is a weird thing. By definition, it's solid. In reality, it's ephemeral. For me, at least. I've been thinking about my own strength a lot lately. It seems to come and go so quickly. Both physical and mental strength. There are times when I'm a freaking powerhouse, with limitless potential. I can feel the excess energy coursing through my blood, and my muscles can grab on to it and put it to good use. And then there are times when I'm empty, my blood is a sluggish river with no currents to push it along. It's infuriating, honestly. And my mental strength comes and goes just as easily. At times, my brain is firing on all cylinders. I'm CRACKLING with energy and power, and words and deeds flow out of me effortlessly. And then they don't. The river analogy works too well here. When I'm off, it feels exactly like I'm trying to work my way up and out of a river of molasses. Sluggish and heavy, I pull myself along against the flow, tr

Man, I am craving a banana split sundae in the WORST WAY right now. It's all I can think about. Which is weird. Because I don't actually like banana split sundaes. Never have. I was always a plain and simple chocolate fudge sundae fan, no nuts, no jimmies. Just a whole lot of fudge, maybe some whip cream, and a cherry on top. I remember going out for ice cream when we were kids, and it was a big fucking deal. 5 kids, broke, cheap parents... it meant that ice cream was a treat the likes of which I don't really get anymore. You know the kind. The treat that you value so deeply because of it's scarcity, the kind you savor for as long as possible. There are very few things I desperately want that I can't easily get anymore. That's an odd thought. I'm not wealthy (LORD, I'm not wealthy). But I really can't think of anything that I feel the same way as I used to feel about an ice cream sundae. And that makes me kind of sad. I loved the savoring of a tre