Urban DreamscapeUrban Dreamscape.
The darkness encompasses the house as i slowly slide open the back door. The freezing wind abruptly bites at my face. I squint my eyes and furrow my brow in response; unamused by old man winter's attempt to cage me inside. Reaching back I pull the hood over my head, completing my white cloth cocoon. I take the first of ten thousand steps I'll take before the sun breaks the horizon. The top layer of snow has crystallized and formed a thin shell of ice, sheltering the snow beneath it. My foot stops briefly on this shell before breaking through to the soft white snow beneath. I raise my arm and wipe the frost from the face of my watch, a cold black 1:00 stares back at me. I circle around the house treading as silently as the hard packed snow will permit. Hurrying across the front yard, I make my escape to the black, cracked, snow laden roads.
The morning, in its infancy, harbors a thick silence. The same silence I spend the majority of my otherwise, noise ridden day, cra
MetaphorI'm an owl, seeing what the night withholds from the eyes of the untrained. Perched on my tree driven to see both the allure of the day's light and the atrocities born by night. I refuse to sleep during the darkest hours, to know only of trivial problems, to stoke my own fires of ignorance. I see all during the night. The adulterers and their unbound lust. The murderers and their senseless aggression. The liars and their words of thorn and honey. I see, and do nothing, because I feel nothing. Not for the aggressors nor their victims. I am simply there to watch. To observe and hypothesize. Not to intervene. Is it wrong to think nothing of the travesties I watch? No, it is my nature. Just as it is in the nature of others to plunge forth into that wretched maelstrom. When those brave souls either conquer or are consumed, they may look up and see the faint light of my eyes in the night and know that I saw it all.
Clueless DesiresThere they are frozen in their own universe entranced in each others mere existence. The girl smiles blushes but tilts her head away from her partner so as to save the embarrassment. The boy does a quirky little half smile and still looks gobsmacked by her presence. They stand off to the side of the dancing masses. Slowly undulating to the beat. Incorporating the music into thier hive mind. But the music falls on deaf ears, the rest of the auditorium doesn't exist.
"What're you staring at?" You're ripped from your observation of the blossoming of teenage love. "Huh?" You reply to your date. It takes your brain a fraction of a second to realize that you had indeed heard the question and didn't need to hear it again. You quickly tack on an earnest enough "Nothing." You date pokes you in the arm playfully "You want to go?" If only they knew. Yet you somehow find yourself mutter an absent minded " Nah, the night is still young." You think they say something but you don't hear it clearly. T
Fluid SanctumMy sanctuary isn't a single location that has meaning to me, no. My place of zen is fluid, because I'm soothed not by a place but by the search for knowledge. So long as I'm attaining new knowledge I feel right at home where I am. Libraries, in the classroom, in my own room, as long as I can scrounge up more information on a topic of interest, I will feel an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. It's this fluidity that is the genius of my sanctuary.
The search for knowledge is an endless quest. New questions will always be packaged with new knowledge, thus creating a perpetual cycle. My sanctuary extends beyond physical bounds, beyond water damage and rust, and fires. The only limitation is time, my time. Which is why I spend so much of my time inside my own bubble, collecting, cataloging, and stashing, this knowledge.
Often times the word knowledge connotes "book learning", formulas, facts, and things of the like. I believe that knowledge is not limited to facts about the outside world,