Hot for the Rich Boy

My Arrogant Muse. Witty, dry and above all passionate. A shadowy memory of you rests upon me like a bandage, protection from the emptiness of daily drab. A breath of inspiration.
Why not believe in the next to come, an older, wiser, more intimate version of you, you so young and unsure. But your haunting stare, the mystery, the closed off ropes you maintain around your coveted, secret aristocracy, taunts me, wanting more. Talent and focus, the precise modes you captured my attention and held it effortlessly, carelessly and without need. All the while, doomed from the start, I imagined a moment, where we were one. Your eyes, your arms, your legs, I saw reflected in my own mirror.
Yet, rich and whirling in your own pretend world, oblivious to my ache, what could be your greatest unknown satisfaction, ignored, denied and walked away from.
Oh arrogant muse, a shadow, an unfilled desire that haunts, unrelenting and never to be realized, leaves me with me, to create.

The Constant

Twenty years from now what will have stood up to scrutiny? What inexhaustible truths can be counted upon across the ages? The cracks on a wall, the dust on your shelves, the bump on a thumb, a dimple in your flesh?
Among all the uncertainty stands one pillar of truth. The undeniable importance of breath- an action which connects our bodies to the world, ever changing, through countless trials and tribulations. Divorce, death, haste, injustice, love, greed, wash over us with great force- dictating our paths, leading us in directions unimagined. This dream with one constant, breath. In the throws of darkness, undeniable; in the presence of ignorance; relentless. Through the human spectrum of emotion: anger, emptiness, injustice, pleasure and pain, it stands.
One day it's purpose will be outlived. The very essence of it, which fuels our lives, will cease to exist. Perhaps without warning, it will slip from our being. Leaving behind traces of its triumphant journey.
But until then, as we maneuver this maze of experience, we shall have it- unmoved, unchanged, our all encompassing rhythmic constant.

Judge Judge Judge away...

What makes someone strange?
Why do people have an innate knee-jerk reaction to judge all, and everything that passes through and/or enters their world- temporal or not? In one sense you may say it to be primal- a function built in to assure proper mating. A natural function of alpha mates alpha. The honey bee sticks with her kind, etc.
Look again at judgement, however, and see cracks unwittingly hidden by corruption of a very relative kind. Judgment used to identify object and man alike- harms more then it helps the process.
Take for instance a man walking down 5th ave. on a sunny weekday afternoon. He wears a coat, concocted by a previous assessment from a view he had out his corner office. One of men and women walking, bundled, in winter attire. This caused him to use his proper judgement-a hypothesis that lends credential to those people's own use of better judgement. When at street level he confirms that his was a good judgement and indirectly so was his fellow man- the process is complete. Perhaps thou, this man decided against the common idea of warmth. Lets say he decided to walk, without coat, without gloves and perhaps without shoes- then what?
The crowds which once guided him to warmth, now disown him, cast their own ideas of this man. Some would throw stones, others grow weary, still, a small group may flirt with the idea of prostrating their clothes and shoes, throwing them off, stride by stride, cold ice to meld with several, long, trusting, bare toes...
A non conformer, a man who dares to walk barefoot in a world where decree rules. That man is good. And thus the never ending cycle perpetuates.