“Perceived Slights”

“Perceived Slights”

Look at you over there.


Angry at every turn.

Can you see yourself?

You’re ridiculous.

Your fat equestrian pants thighs squeezing into the last remaining seat.

You flippantly look at the meek gentleman sitting beside you.

You know, the one who’s rail thin.

Your body is invading his space.

You exceed the seat you squeezed into.

One time, you read a snarky article in some snarky magazine, about “man spreading”.

You believe that he is at fault.

But I’ve seen pita bread thicker’n him.

Your furrowed brow, your audible tut.

You’re invading the space of everyone on the train.

You’re “perceived slight spreading”.

Keep your overtly aggressive gestures to yourself, as well as your veiled passive aggressive ones.

Your energy is toxic.

I can’t possibly know what has helped you to arrive here in this moment.

But as I observe you, I can tell it likely that all the things you react to negatively, are decidedly innocuous until you put your charming mind around them.


The gentleman beside you, a registered stoic, has ridden in silence, despite the discomfort of your polyester thigh rubbing his knee every time you jostle to dramatize your perceived slight.

Your stop is coming up.

Better get yourself ready to shake your head because only one half of the doors will open upon exiting.

Also, you will be inconvenienced by those standing to the right on the escalator, as you try to squeeze by.

Lastly, as your bring your morning coffee to your lips, you will shake an admonishing fist in the air at some imagined deity, as the cream the barista put in the cup curdled.


Much like you.


All Signs Point to Disjointedness



Is anyone out there listening? Or reading my dung?

Dug in, heads low, faces bright with the reflection of hand held information delivery systems. Who would have thought they could escape through a surface a fraction of the size of their physical self? I guess what I mean is who would have thought they could be so contained and voluntarily affected by a compact device. Ever deadening, looking downward, not upward, or inward. Distraction is the thing. From what? we all have our own answer to that.

Yet, I expect you to possibly, read me, and hear me. The delivery of my voice through this conduit of isolation. Separate-together. My vanity requires validation, when this changes I will let you know. It would be nice to find a place to reside in that is not apathy, but carefree.


Please kill the messenger, as I contradict myself wonderfully and wistfully well.

I feel rather incoherent. Disjointed on a variety of fronts. Floating around on the breeze, without a place to fall or be let down onto. Safety. Fleeting. Safely. Fleeing.

I’m in between, amidst, and surrounded by a period characterized by malaise and uncertainty. I was chugging along there, and hit a few bumps that require a redefining of self. I didn’t expect it. Who does?

I think it is entirely possible to feel both blessed for the good things, and conflicted by the discomforts of living. That is the most human I can be. Striving for more experience, and learning to accept the order and disorder in varied amounts.

Perhaps this feeling will afford perspective.

i share as a measure of release. If i hold less staunchly, and articulate it away from me, perhaps I can heal.

Until that time, I’ll let the breeze carry me on a little bit more, and take solace in the ride whichever way it manifests.

“And they rode on in the friscalating dusklight.” – Wes Anderson in the character of Eli Cash, from The Royal Tenenbaums