{2020 / 2021} without / with

{December 30}

Let's call it a rite of sacrifice, shaving back my hair, tight to the scalp. What results: as a consequence, everyroom feels, without a sense of emotion. Without humanity. Yet, under the surface of awareness: a goal motions into fruition— as of yet unvocalized.  Without firmament or reason. A seeking for closure. Resolution. Permeance. We move as if underwater. Slow, indistinct actions. Without a need for gauging reactions. Communication limited to nods of the head. Nonverbal, brief smiles. A grey century still motions within us. Silent echoes from hundreds of years in the past. We ignore these ties to the past that pulse under the top layers of skin.

{December 31}

As an effort As there seems no way of introducing my point. No toxic topic sentence with valid rhetoric brimming over with

This afternoon I looked over  my bookshelves, rediscovering titles purchased and forgotten. So many books. So little time. On whim, finally began reading The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven by Sherman Alexie. Mending factions within myself. The blunt portrayal of a low-income life on a reservation sadly echoes across many cultures. Often I have brushed up against similar situations. Alexie's stories remind me of the time spent in Des Moines—Minneapolis—Saint Louis. Bitter drinking. Cold dawn alarms without sleep. Flats without central air. Sometimes no gas. Wanting to make a valid point without any success. Without having a valid point in the first place. Cigarette ash everywhere. Life of empty bottles, cans. The human condition prone to despair, disrepair. Without consolations. 

{01012021}

Yesterday closed off the year with dampness, heavy intervals of rain, a cold front moved over Cypress. Today, ironically the opposite. Still cold, yet bright sun. Cyanblue skies. Hope as an entity shifts overhead. 

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burning bridges— https://fragmentedportrait.blogspot.com/