November 11 2020
God is love. Now sun had risen in a new day, alight are the colors. Flowers adorn in glistening, glowing adorations of the Artist. Musically every moment is a sonata. My body is a sculpture. This outside, an interactive exhibit. And i’m the writer, medium of acolyte expression in this hour.
I sip coffee from a blue-brown mug steaming into the frigid autumn air. I care for love and people’s well being. Last evening my cousin father looked his kid, his dancing child enjoying life in play, and he said he’d beat him into the ground. I stood in silence and watched the out-spoken thoughts echo in his eyes. I remembered hearing he’d hit his daughter here when i was not here. I nearly turned and hit the man. I resorted instead to my room, paced, hit my head, played piano in meditative prayer to calm my anger into just passion. I took my cousin father and his two lovely kids outside here. I told him i loved him; you are not to lay one harmful hand or word on your kids; he looked me in the eyes through his cigarette smoke, we hugged, he agreed, his kids smiled, they danced freer.
I attribute myself to the goodwill, the commonwealth of us all, for our greatest wealth is in love and God is love. In the great God of life we ought to dance childlike, enjoying our days, drawing on streets of infancy, forgetting not the warm recollections in autumn smells, rains, fire-pits, warmth of a lover, a flower, a sunrise or moonset.
So the days they go along, my dreams are vivid love, vibrant expressions of sanctity, i aspire to follow feelings of free love in people, all people my friend for art is the chord i resonate with.
I have many faults and i offer each like choice boats on a lily sea when stars are hanging lanterns of love exchange, of purity to rea-range my heart. To be reach with how i speak of my love. To love like i say i do. To live love. Will the world love or hate me if i be true to love? To live with, from, and into again the endless sea, i am a stream from God’s ocean of love and back into Gods ocean of love.
I sip a hot coffee with the birds and flowers, dandelions, trees and grass, daisies, wind and light, i blow some smoke into the air i see my breath in. I remember all is magic if i’d like it to be. I like to be in love.
The day awaits no waiting. I take a hot and warm shower, pack a bag. Munch on a keto bar and get waiting waiting at the southbound to chandler ave. bus. I’m in the green grass. Yellow daisies by my feet, i fiddle a stick, a small twig of an old pine between my fingers. Man in a white light blue coat says i look familiar, like he’s seen me, he knows me in a way only he knows. I feel his eyes are determinately blue like his coat and his head is shaven bald but i still can see blonde. Why’s that i say. I say with my finger i’m going south, he says i look young, that the south bus on the other side of the street. I smile and get walking, he yells that bus tickets are free so don’t bother buying, flipping a miniature green lighter in his bonewhite fingers.
The bus is shaky so i write near illegible, lady leaves a few miles down and says thank you. I’m not sure anyone but me heard her so i say thank you back in pen for the politeness. Bus driver hits up a curb and curses into the metal air, lights flicker on and off, a robotic lady’s voice informs me on the next stops just about every thirty seconds. My stop is, well i’m not sure.
Chandler Blvd and Boston St. I don’t know how to signal the bus driver to stop. My eyes follow the purple and blue seat patterns to a complimenting yellow cord running the walls, lining the windows where trees pass and i gather dreams in them windows. Couple get off the bus near about where i’m to go so i’m off walking , in a grass field in downtown chandler, an oriental kid is walking a blue bike through the field. Trees yellow have leaves that crunch under my feet and in crumbs in my hand. Autumn in my hands.
At Peixoto i order a large hot americano with a bit, i show how much exactly with my thumb and index finger, of oat milk. Her pink bob hair nods and we smile through face masks. An old coworker and friend, who makes beats – Grant, is saying what’s up. We talk life, how i nearly lost mind, been saved, how beautiful life is. Outside i’m beginning dreaming again in the pen in my hand. Lady at the table beside reads Harry potter, i think of spells.
So soon then a man quietly calls my attention. He’s holding a cup with two slips at the top, just the word Deaf written on the side. He’s got the brightest old eyes i’ve seen today, a warming presence. I slip him the few dollars i took intending for a bus pass, learning i need not. He smiles wider, like the edges of a crescent moon pointing out the sides of a night metaphor for a face mask.
The bus ride back i find myself still more comfortable, already familiar with the ride. I remember lines i’d written yesterday – our time is wind, winds change slow and fast, we can only ride with. With the slow wash hum of the bus’s mechanical drum i tune into my own world, beautiful litany of wind through the trees, yellow daisy remembrance, light falls through the wide wall windows like a rembrandt painting. A woman says she thinks its saturday already on a veteran’s day’s Wednesday, her boyfriend is a marine, says its better to be early than late and the bus driver cordially agrees. I push the yellow button at Country Club and Angelo St. I walk streets with angel choirs in my head, make rhythm of my step; 1, 2, 3, 4.
I’ve an interview in a café bookstore. It’s quaint, calm. There’s a waterfall outside. Joana asks what drives me in life and i say life. It’s easy. I want to be painting, playing keys, drinking coffee, meeting regulars at the café and deepening new friendships, forever friends in the light of today’s eternity. Joana gives me the position, we smile. I talk with Noel, she’s so nice and relaxing to conversate with. I find familiarity in the café.
