Fences

A little cloth, here and there
I try and look at the hair
Of the girl in front
But my baseness bears the brunt
Of the attack on my senses
I see I'll have to mend some fences
In my mind, around myself
But for now I'll put these ideas on the shelf
For tomorrow, not today
But, let us not say
"He is crude!"
or "Oh, how rude!"
Merely remember yourself
And how, in a similar situation
You might fall off the shelf

posted by Pacer 10/21/2002

Monday, October 14, 2002

Moments

Sometimes when I stop a moment, turn my head one way, I feel a tug. Almost as if I am being peeled out of reality, the world, like a sticker being pulled out of an image. But, inevitably, I am yanked back into place and the world, which at that moment was slowed down to a series of flashing images, resumes its normal pace around me.

posted by Pacer 10/14/2002

Sunday, October 13, 2002

Roads

Cresting the hill at night on the highway in Georgia I suddenly caught a glimpse -- lights sprinkled through the trees below in the next miniature valley. Here and there were bright lights, standing out in the darkness like ... some simile. Little points piercing the canvas here and there, breaking through the gloom and offering an incomplete picture of the evening. But only in gray and green. Your life, when you travel on highways and byways in America, or at least Georgia, begins to take on only two tones -- gray and green. Occasionally a third is thrown in, here and there, to liven your world up a bit, and remind you of the world outside. Or would that be inside?

More accurately, the world of human interaction. The world away from the AM/FM radio, the stereo system in your car being your best friend as the white lines tick off more ground being eaten up and spit out by the engine under your hood, away from the clouds in the sky painting pictures and scenes and movies as you fly by. It is this world, a solitary one, that the third tone reminds you of, pulls you to. It is the color bright, and it pulls you to the truck stops and rest stops and restrooms and fast food chains and gas stations of the small cities in-between Between and Atlanta, or any damn place you can think of.

But I am still in that solitary world, looking in on the world below the hill with all of its lights and people and sounds. I am still wandering the road, AM/FM stereo by my side, just trying to figure out what kind of picture those tiny points of light are trying to provide.

posted by Pacer 10/13/2002

Monday, October 07, 2002

Work

At work I sit in front of a computer which sits in front of a window which sits in front of trees being blown by the wind and a sky, sometimes blue, which is often dotted by white, fluffy clouds being blown by in the wind. The trees, and their leaves, being blown in the wind have a claming effect on me.

So, as chaos whirls in the office I sit and watch my trees and bit of sky, framed in a 3x2 square window, and I feel something like happiness, maybe. Around me my boss stalks, angry and moody over random internet outages. Not a good thing when a large amount of your work depends on not having internet outages.

But, my trees ease me into the wind and the flow of the day.

posted by Pacer 10/07/2002

Tuesday, October 01, 2002

Old James

There was a man
Who lived in my town
Who called himself Old James.

And as he would walk
Down the street
He would tend to touch the walls.

One day, as a young child
I asked the old man
Why he kept leaning to touch the walls

"Old James," I said
"Why do you touch the walls?
"Do you lose your balance?"

Old James just smiled
And gently replied
With a laugh:

"My young son," He said
'"I touch the wall to keep the ground
"So as to not float away

"For, as I have grown old
"My mind tend to float away
"And I need a reminder to stay."

To this day
I remember the smiling words
Of Old James

And, as I walk,
I stretch my hand out
To touch the railing, the bush, the wall

As I go by
So that I might stay grounded
And not float away with my dreams into the sky.

posted by Pacer 10/01/2002