Transitory

The other day, I was waiting for the bus in the International District, after going to Uwajimaya. As I was standing by the stop, about twenty feet away from me, a homeless man began to throw his belongings across a small grey cement wall, separating the sidewalk from a parking lot. After he had shifted all (or at least all that I could see) of his belongings, he followed them over the wall, and began to talk very loudly and semi-coherently, gesticulating wildly in concert. Among his belongings that he had thrown over the wall were two small, thin aluminum bookends and a book. He picked up all three, and after walking over to the garbage can next to the bus shelter, slammed the bookends down side by side and slid the book between them, pushing them towards one another so as to assure the book's snugness. His work down, he then picked up his belongings and walked across the street to Union Station, still yelling and gesticulating, and sat down by the doors.

I stood at the bus stop for another five minutes, staring at the book. It was an ancient hardback, bound with some sort of faded grey tweed-ish substance and tattering at all its edges. I had an intense, burning desire to walk over and see what book it was that the man had placed so forcefully on the trashcan. However, as he was sitting across the street, and as I had no idea what kind of reaction it would provoke, I decided against it, and settled with just staring at it until the bus arrived. I still want to know what that book was. It's starting to drive me fucking nuts.

Warm

Summer's turgid lethargy consumes us all.

Or, me anyways.
Summer's are always the same. Early June is seeded with epic, grand ambition and plans of conquest, but by the time mid July rolls around, you don't even have enough motivation to leave the house to get beer.

Things're always changing all around us. I'd be running to catch up, but I guess that fucks up my back, so it looks like I'll be swimming instead. If I ever get around to it. Uff.

reflections

A few things, i guess:

When I work for more than five hours and then go straight home and sleep, as I'm falling asleep, I get these these bizarre semi-conscious visions of the conveyor belt at the checkstand flashing on my eyelids, and it freaks the hell out of me. Thriftway is taking over my mind.

After spending a year in college, I've come to the sad conclusion that most college students bug the shit out of me.

Things can only be what they are, not what they were. Life moves only forward.


There, I hope you found these as profound to read as I did to write.
Goodnight.