I am astounded often. Sometimes, walking the dozens of feet from my apartment to Clay Abner Park, I will be struck with wonder of an intensity so debilitating as to prevent further movement. I will stand stock still, arrested by the scent of a cigarette, the wind playing around the corner of a building, the starry dust sprinkled between the mossy stones of the sidewalk. Lifetimes have been lived there by me under the trees, watching cardinals jump between twigs, their gestures outlining a world's beat in the rubber rhythms from the basketball court. Frankly, it's a wonder I make it to the park at all, a wonder I don't miss my bus more often, lost at the stop amid the swirling vortex of street sounds and movement, stale piss and sticky sidewalks.
My mother would say that I was off on Mars when I would finally respond after minutes of trying to get my attention, wouldn't let me out of the back yard for years in fear of me walking into the street with faraway eyes. But actually, I'm nearsighted. It's what's right next to me that gets me every time, my metric shrinking and shrinking until the dust motes become asteroids, each one scrawled tightly in ancient script I almost understand, flashing messages to each other as they progress in orbit.
This is what I want to share with you. This is why I play music, write poetry, why I love and live. These things I've created or collected are attempts at communicating overwhelming beauty, so be prepared to be confused, ecstatic, frustrated, or unimpressed. I hope you are left wanting. I hope you have questions, I hope you seek out more information and different experiences. Misunderstand: It's good for you!
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