I have come into the sum of so many things
which have grown bigger than I’ve realized
and gone beyond my control.

Then again, this is life;
these are the episodes of our existence
in which some are perfect and others are less than.
Some are stellar and others are unremarkable; yet,
life comes at a steady pace.
Life happens. Age happens
and in the blink of an eye,
time passes and we look back and think,
“Where’s it all gone?”

So, where does it begin?
Through a window or an opportunity?
Is it a curiosity? Or what is it?
Is this a need to be bad or to rebel?
Is this to overthrow the powers that be
by being defiant or is it a need for control
and to take back the brand of excitement
by disobeying a rule or an establishment 

How does this start?
Is there an age where this begins?

I can’t see it. At least, not really

It’s like I can’t see the wall, the hand in front of my face,
or the life before my eyes.
There’s so much in the middle,
like the way it is in the middle of Times Square,
say like, when the ball drops on New Year’s
or the way it is at the intermission at an off-Broadway play
when everyone takes to the street for a smoke or a breath of fresh air. 

End of September –
It is the start of autumn and the first chill has come around.
I am nowhere near ready for what comes next. Yet, whatever comes will come anyway
regardless if anyone is ready or not. 

Our part of the northern hemisphere
is tilting away from the sun. This means that
warmth might vanish on some days
but the sunlight will prevail

I went to visit a place from my past,
which was unrecognizable to me now.
All the stores had changed
and the buildings looked differently to me.
Then again,
maybe everything looks different to me now,
especially the way I view myself or life; therefore, everything has changed
either physically or at minimum,
our life has changed on a cellular level.
Therefore everything has changed
because of the way we’ve adapted to it.

One of the questions I’m asked is if everything I write about is true?
Or, one could offer the idea that perhaps what I write is only true to me, which it is.
This is all true to me. Everything I write is true, even when (or if) it’s not true to someone else or true; I have come to the understanding that everyone has their own version of truth. Why else do people argue? Then again, perhaps the biggest problem is that we mistake opinions for fact and therefore, no matter what we think, there is only one truth. Any other version of that truth is no longer true. It’s only true to us.

I never prayed much.
Not just because of my thoughts on religion or the lack thereof
and not for any other reason
than the fact that I have no tongue for it.

I think of myself as an equal to the parable about the tax collector –
he was the so-called sinner to which
the righteous man or the Pharisee
saw himself as better
or “greater than”.

So what is this anyway?
A mindset? A mood?
An inclination or intention?
Is this an attitude?
Or, is this a disposition
or is it some kind of predominant tendency?
Either way, what is it
that dictates or determines whether we give
in or move ahead?

I take to the dream like an old familiar place
which I’ve been to a thousand times; yet,
it’s been years since my last trip to the brownstones.

I see the old familiar corners of back home
where eyes were bright and youth was wild.
I remember us as longhaired maniacs.
We looked to find our way around mediocrity
and tried to promote own own rebellion,
one scar at a time.

I’ve heard this question asked before –
What can we do to save someone’s life?
I’ve heard people ask, what can we do
to get people to change their ways
or how to see things differently?

Unfortunately, the answer is nothing.
The answer is there’s nothing harder to change
than a person’s belief system.