monday’s are so bleh, seem­ing­ly imper­vi­ous to prepa­ra­tions to make it an oth­er­wise per­fect one.

I didn’t get much time to do any­thing I want­ed to over the week­end, from hit­ting the gym to a hair­cut. Guess it’ll have to wait til lat­er. I’m so not a morn­ing per­son how much more than mon­day morn­ings, even less of a non morn­ing per­son. That almost makes sense.

I run stoops ear­ly in the morn­ing sev­er­al laps pret­ty soon he’ll need his own fit­bit, no longer work­ing out of home but have to com­mute across the city in the west loop area (they gener­i­cal­ly call every­thing ​“loop” in Chi­town). I see dead frogs lying across the main path, but con­trast­ing this gris­ly scene is the flow­ery fra­grance of the wild flow­ers grow­ing in this eco park. They even have lit­tle snakes, cray­fish com­ing out of this lagoon, kin­da kook­ie since we’re in the city and not some sort of out­door zoo, but in a very cool way. Shows our require­ment for nature even on a small­er scale and the good it could do for our psyche’s.

Most week­ends this park gets over­run by obnox­ious lit­tle league takeovers, they come and trash it and then leave like they graced it with their pres­ence. Seems to be the norm in the city, a reg­u­lar thing for fam­i­lies to come togeth­er and get their chil­dren into some­thing oth­er than video gam­ing and being indoor reclus­es. I always detest­ed sports, its such a showy con­test of win/​lose, a dat­ed and passé par­a­digm that pre­dom­i­nant­ly cau­casians still adhere to reli­gious­ly. In a very real sense com­pet­i­tive sports is reli­gion. If you’re a cre­ative and imag­i­na­tive being you just don’t see the point since noth­ing is cre­at­ed from all of the ener­gies, no tan­gi­ble proof in the end result. You only proved that you can spend, but there’s no evi­dence of the spend­ing and thus no ROI. When art or poems get made, they tell the view­er or the crit­ic alike that this was made with intel­lect and with skill, with thought­ful pur­pose and there’s some­thing pro­found and beau­ti­ful in it, despite the lev­el of mas­tery in the mak­ing of these works.

The sun feels good, the heat does as well. I sleep deeply after a hard days work, beau­ti­ful­ly and warm­ly. I felt like I could write vivid­ly about a hun­dred dif­fer­ent things right now but zero­ing in and focus on one was a chal­leng­ing pain point. It’s not a mat­ter of what oth­ers want­ed to read, but what I want­ed to say. And I wrote from the angle of hav­ing some­thing wor­thy of being said and read, some­thing pos­i­tive and plea­sur­able but not hurt­ful, dam­ag­ing, or over­ly crit­i­cal. Nor do I write in the sense that I’m all that and a bag of chips, some­body whose lead­ing a rock and roll lifestyle and gets out of bed look­ing like a CK male mod­el (though I have in the past I must admit). In a very real sense I’m very real, unpre­ten­tious­ly pre­ten­tious, deeply shal­low, tan­gi­ble, acces­si­ble, not so much out there but not so much here in the now. I’ve an old soul, I remem­ber things…the way we once were, the times before the inter­nets and when peo­ple were once nor­mal and far more love­ly.

I’m not here to mon­e­tize and to be liked, fol­lowed, beloved.…yet if these things occur so be it, but I don’t live for that. It’s unim­por­tant real­ly, val­i­da­tion is over­rat­ed par­tic­u­lar­ly by strangers who are way­ward and vari­able.