Tattoos are forever.

Drying off the last droplets from his morning shower, something catches his eye in the mirror. It’s his reflection. More specific, the reflection of his tattoo. The once beautifully colored half sleeve on his upper left arm sprawling over his shoulder and into his chest; a monument to the start of a new day, the sun just cresting over mountain tops and sharing light with the world - now looks weathered, blurry, faded. He had spent so much time and energy planning out this tattoo. He had always loved the philosophical idea of how early morning dawn represented a new beginning, a chance to carve out greatness, create happiness, gain wisdom, or share love. He worked with the artist to create the perfect rendition of what he was expecting to be a part of him forever. Maybe it was in need of a touch up, to bring that vibrant color back and retain that everlasting beauty he once saw, or maybe it was him. Could it be possible that something changed in him? A change to his reality; this tattoo once rich with inspiration and hope for the future, now looks like the setting sun, clinging to its last moments, sharing its final beams of sunlight before disappearing behind the mountains, possibly never to be seen again. Fondly glancing down directly at the artwork, he remembers the hours spent, the days passed, the pain, the exhilaration, the extra care needed until it was healed. He sees close up that there had always been slight flaws in the work, flaws that he always had accepted. Getting lost in his thoughts, he knows that the tattoo is always going to be a part of him. In his mind, the interpretation may differ from time to time, but in his heart the admiration is timeless.

It's that time again...

So literary fever is running rampant in the casa de los seiters de north park. Made a lot of observations the last few months, both internal (yes, in my own head) and external (yes, the weirdness of the real world, everday life). Stay tuned. More to come.

Brief

Her presence,
merely a whisper
in a crowded music hall.

Her impact,
large and resounding,
bass drum reverberating.

Another crater
crashing into the terrain of my heart,
eliminating a portion of the soft, fertile soil
and turning it into useless, cauterized rock.

Convoy to eternity...

So I saw a random thing the other day. I was driving to the gym, and on the 805, I got stuck behind a funeral procession. Not just any funeral procession, but a convoy of vehicles about 40 cars deep. It was amazing. A motorcycle cop leading the group, like a drum major leading the band on to the field for the halftime festivities. Except, today wasn't a festive mood. How can a day when burying a loved one be festive? Then, the more I thought about it, the amount of vehicles in the procession was definitely significant. 40 cars!, at least! This person, or formerly a person had done something right in their spin on this soiled Earth to warrant a procession of vehicles, each filled with 3-4, sometimes 6-7 teary eyed passengers each on their way to pay their last respects to this loved human. Isn't that what life is all about? Priorities often change, but it was apparent this person had their priorities straight. Life is about making connections, bonds, impressions. It's about the love, the pain, the joy, the heartache. Yeah, I know, cliche. Whatever. This procession further drove home my belief that life is short. Cherish those you care about, hold them close, and never let an opportunity to share the true wonderment of love with another human go unexplored. Is it painful sometimes? Hell yes. But the other option is much, much worse. A life of solitude, loneliness, and yearning. Yearning for that deep emotional connection to another human. The feeling of self worth is important, but can anyone truly explain the feeling of putting the well being of someone else before your own? It was obvious to me that whoever had just recently passed away, had made a large impact on their world. The convoy was representation enough. But, for every car that had passengers that knew and cared about the deceased, how many others couldn't make it to partake in the days events? You never know how far the ripple of your personal pebble will travel when you splash into a lake...take every opportunity to make sure those important to you know just how much you care, Because you never know when your pebble will be cast haphazardly into the middle of the lake, like a child skipping rocks, detaching you from the world as you know it and away from all who matter.

Introductions and Salutations.

Well, here goes nothing. I'm giving it the old college try. My brother recommended I try blogging. If anything, this will give me a chance to vent into cyberspace about the trivialites of daily life and the increasing regularity of witnessing a random act of stupidity. Stay tuned, this could get interesting.