I’m sitting here watching Andy do homework and listening to someone play piano in Chapin Hall, so I think this is a good time to remember some stuff.

I think history repeats itself and nothing is ever the same. This is thought of symbolically and literally. Because of this, we can either fall to a dread called routine or realize that there never can be such a thing. I think there is reason for both.

What is routine but a way for life to tell us we have closed our minds too much? The trees are always changing, animals are moving. The Earth is spinning. But it’s hard not to feel routine. I’ve only escaped it through an effort to live timelessly. This has led to a decrease in linear memory and focus, and I’ve loved it. Instead of dreading the waking, the brushing, the chewing, the sitting, the laying; I’ve begun to forget all of that and instead only know the now. There cannot be routine once you can see past the routine. However, that hasn’t quenched my desires for newness and change, for I’m not at a mastery of these ideas.

To draw upon some just for fun, here are what I can label as non-routine (though I really feel this is how life works) events and maybe some of their backgrounds:

Today, while I was eating lunch (alone) a girl came over, took my sunglasses, put them on and then left. I thought that was the funniest things I’ve seen in a while. I later had a chat with her. She was doing it because she was “never coming back here.” I wonder if she was dropping out or just visiting.

Another day, I saw a young boy looking in a ditch. There was just a soccer game, so I deduced that he had dropped a ball. I thought “someone he knows will get it for him.” As I passed though, I heard him call to his dad who yelled back and told him too bad, it’s gone. So I turned around and hopped down to retrieve his ball. The boys astonished thank you made me sad for him, that he should be astonished when he sees kindness.

I took a hat off a fence while I was in NYC on Saturday. I now wear a paperboy hat.

Life is an amazing reflection of the self. Every opportunity is a lesson.

I was speaking with a boy and I left to go get lunch. I dropped my bags in a building then took a different exit than usual assuming I wouldn’t see him. As I opened the door, he was approaching.

I mixed dream and reality twice today.


This is off track: I’ve become aware of how much I move. I haven’t taken time to stand still, and I wonder if a period of stillness is coming. The more I contemplate movement, the more sense stillness makes (too)


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