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peter piper picked a disappointment last tuesday

Updated: May 27, 2020

there's this metaphorical wheel barrel.

sunlight pierces my retina causing a visionary malfunction. ironically, this is when i am reminded of this barrel. its awkward silhouette skips spaces through a gaze. cracks to doorways. chairs to floors. jesus candles to feather dusters. there is no alternative at that point. i soon realize that this phenomenon is with me for eternity.

splotches offer condensation to a 20/20 viewpoint. as a matter of fact, it even attends every social gathering. this is where things get toasty.

observations along with truths get tossed in. the mere weight pulls with gravity to satisfy a lovely squeak every so often. i find it humoring. i picture an army of mice here with me in this movement. one wheel at a time. no traps necessary. let them all roam freely.

let's get back to this barrel.

symbolically it serves as a vehicle for my understandings within life. i frequently toss random memorabilia i find amusing. rarely do gems dance with the pile. once maximum occupancy is reached, it gets dumped off a seemingly narrow cliff. material such as the one mentioned (i.e. memorabilia) must be discarded weekly-- we would lose our minds if we held onto dead sightings.

how does a wheel barrel play into this post? my recent experiences certainly feel synonymous to this bountiful metaphor. you see, i have been hauling this tripod contraption for weeks now. it began vacant. i traveled across borders separated by what appeared to be a dental floss measurement of a difference. bodies of water singing with the wind. and even boulder-esque mountains that resembled giant dinosaurs. folds within grass pastures only someone like me would appreciate. the barrel remained empty despite the epic centerpiece. sweat hiccupped over wrinkles. the search was coming to an end and i knew it.

my feet were sore. calluses coated with eucalyptus blisters. i sat where i felt comfortable. a young fruit tree joined me. in the beginning, i was numb to its existence; more concerned with my empty barrel. why haven't i earned any prosperous values to place inside my weathered treasure chest? have i reached the end of my journey? i look at my fruit tree friend.

the clouds built a factory line and along came nature's manufactured products. i allowed raindrops to fall on my head as i hummed a similar tune. the free giveaways forced me to stay put. traveling in harsh conditions is dangerous. the problem is that everywhere is dangerous these days.

nevertheless, i took the hint and flipped the barrel outside in. i rolled my frame into what i imagined looked like an amoeba, either that or just plain ridiculous ::smiles:: so under the barrell i sat until the stormed cleared.

the fruit tree and i. both of us lacked byproducts that solidified our experiences. well, at least in the external materialistic sense. i had no carry-on and the tree without any fruits. you see... people are programmed to think this way-- we're always looking for the aesthetic cues. people don't have time to wait around. they want the good now. savor the experience and onto the next. patience has become a sanskrit term. it seems to me that we are all evolving at an individualistic sense. there lacks a layover period. i feel as if this 'layover period' is crucial for our growth. what happens when one is placed in an area unfamiliar to them and forced to reside there for a designated amount of time?

water the base and fruits will emerge. i came across this tree in a makeshift layover period. both in unknown territory, futures in remission, which when combined, initiated an open exchange. it's how things are supposed to go. it's a fascinating element; so periodic that it rarely makes it to the table. ::smiles:: patience was ostensibly a special token that continually fed into this cycle. to add, the communal undertone bridges an elevated definition to growth. though the time spent offers a euphoric high, one must move forward.

my barrel is slowly accumulating more fruit and the tree stretches in centrifugal pentameter. we know the direction of the wind may shift. rain is inevitable. society itself is a global asshole. but the stars over everyone's head shape the ozone layer in some astronomically bizarre kind of way. know that the tree needs to be replenished from time to time and my tastebuds will soon crave fruit in due time.

this cycle of life outweighs any food pyramid. not many can survive with this diet. few.

on a more important note, i find quotation marks so incredibly abrasive.

thanks for listening.



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