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malt vinegar brews even the dimmest bulbs

Updated: Jul 20



forgive my absence. last quarter was a breadth of paradoxical encounters. i was tumbling, standing, and floating simultaneously. most striking affair is the one i believe is worth blogging about.


con·stel·la·tion /ˌkänstəˈlāsh(ə)n/

a group of stars forming a recognizable pattern that is traditionally named after its apparent form or identified with a mythological figure. modern astronomers divide the sky into eighty-eight constellations with defined boundaries.


birthmarks. dermic abnormalities familiar to any given person from birth, hence the name. small spots began appearing on my skin. realized they were permanent after cumbersome trials mistaking them for black pepper. weeks cartwheeled into months and more delicate specks rose to epidermal surfaces throughout my body. never raised. always irregular in design.


took a night off. sand angels on the beach sounded like a good idea at the time. there, in the dead of the night, i gazed upon a light polluted sky. tears streamed down dark circles. i worked so hard to make a living, i forgot to live. thought to myself, right now a part of you is dying (i.e. cells, hair, etc.). appreciate your divinity in this moment. breathless yet deliberate. inhaled the ocean breeze. exhaled regret.


came home to a warm shower. beads of sand clogged the amazon prime strainer. skin specks still intact. scent from palo santo reminded me of the beautiful relationships i have in my life. appreciation surged through my heart. cocooned in genuine gratitude… gratitude and sadness.


why can't every connection feel like this? billions of people on this planet and no singular unification. everyone committed to proving their harrowing individualism.


my invitations went long overdue. channeled the request to the universe eons ago albeit i'm still here. perplexed as to why humankind hasn't nailed it yet. those who stumble into my path these days seem to be inadvertently colluding with devilish traumas. recklessly perilous. limits do not have to be permanent. exposition usually assuages temperamental vicissitudes. that said, relating beyond superficial only works when the receiving party is multilingual.


tossing tongues with no training leads to hysteria. unfortunately, most of the population gawks the same tone. seagulls flock with other seagulls. shitting on those below them when in fact, at the end of the day, they’re no more important than the rest of the animal kingdom.


an obtuse periodicity anchored in past traumas. i find myself constantly taking a step back. preemptive refusal to be a matador to someone's inner turmoil. i'm not a savior nor am i someone who willingly absorbs their pain when that person has yet to do anything about it for themselves. said people have a pernicious effect; i've worked far too long and hard to go backwards.


i began charting the specks, colloquial term used was "my inner constellation." idiosyncratic shapes surfaced after a series of points connected. alas, a foreign language. foreign to me because it wasn't finished.


i went back to the beach. not to the same spot. heterosexual cunninglingus was taking place. no blanket. straight sand on sand. i sent them my prayers and walked to an isolated patch. lodged headphones into ear canals. needed to drown the moans, groans, ouch, yikes ::smiles::


held my sharpie-speck design out towards the star filled sky. in no way was i attempting to assimilate with astrological byproducts. i was here to acquaint myself with another language: source language.


skin specks were birthmarks because there are parts of me that are evolving. rebirth via work in progress. it was beautiful. this galaxy inundated with trillions of constellations and that's just our galaxy. imagine the septillion others out there. a symphony of harmonic languages. absolutely beautiful.


our journeys are infinite. perhaps that's why humankind is where it is; they all think they are the most important star up there. one star doesn't make a constellation. constellations are universal strands of consciousness. where are these souls? driven to understand a maturated loci?


landmarks on my flesh analogous to inner constellations. collapse fingertips into the unknown and you will soon know how to navigate within me… within all of us.



p.l.h,

a



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