Visiting a place is not being there, it is only sight and sound – drawn curtains a polished candelabra.
You see in lists and itineraries, perspective narrowed to what such places concede freely, satisfying curious wanderers; souls ravaged like refugees, without the time or patience to settle down.
A distant home that feels like asylum, pending and uncertain. All virtues lost, yet to be found.
You can feel authenticity crisp in the air.
You can’t grasp it, though it is there – it is there, left only with pictures awash in venom; that resolve like troubled thoughts, dying after a sober night’s sleep.
Visiting a place is not being there.
Being there requires sacrifice. It requires the hint of escape on the horizon, silhouetting all the shapes visitors ignore; seeing those shadows and loving them, for how they embrace the light.
Not watching the latest marvel movie at a bar, a game, the gym anywhere else.
For whatever reason
you are here.
Let me tell you what that means.
You could be in church,
stale robes screaming! about how unworthy YOU are perfection the only currency of any value other than your wallet.
You could be at work, for five cents on the dollar; some worth there at least…
not much though. So you’re here. You’re here. Okay, but you could be at the movies!
Some ubermensch sees the world ending, finds himself, his friends and stops it.
All the action! The machismo! The heroics!
The good guys… always… winning…
Yet you’re here, where they often… just fucking don’t.
I get it, but you could be out on the town,
submerged in whatever works to blur the world as it is. A backwards magic eye painting, that makes more sense distorted, digestible even.
Is it too early? Too late? Whatever- You’re here.
Not at a game, a jersey on, screaming at the top of your lungs about how worthy your boys are- (not theirs, never theirs) You could be there,
But that’s, that’s a lot; so you’re here.
You’re not at the gym, living the nightmare to reach the dream of immortality. Some absolute unit telling you you’re doing great, you’re almost there, just one more, just one more, just one more, just one more. You’re here.
By choice.
Vulnerable but celebrated, knowing the good guys, ladies and everyone in between or beyond;
they lose, and lose and lose – but they get back up, they show up. Not paid to be here, still finding value.
Staring the world down, seeing it for what it is, unflinching, and finding worth in every corner, every shadowed table every wilted head.
Grow Gray With Me 