There is something a bit ritualistic about coffee. I know that has been said a thousand times over but a million other people but this morning it just stuck with me. As I poured the remnants of the ones who didn’t make the steam train, I smelled all of the flavors I had added into the brew. Cinnamon, Nutmeg, Ground Cloves, and a small bit of almond extract with a splash of maple syrup.

As I inhaled the olfactory gift that is said brew, I took my butter-knife slowly dipped it into the center of the french press and started to stir. While stirring I just kept thinking, “If you turn the middle long enough it will all turn.” For some reason that just fascinated me. Basic physics, something that has been seen a thousand times over in a million different scenarios, but it was still fascinating.

I didn’t wonder about anything else. I felt what could have been thought of as a sense of meditation. It was a mindset of focus I wished to have on an everyday basis with every primary task that was at hand. Unfortunately I’m generally scatter brained and the sentences that I can actually string together into something coherent seem to only be in a form that would, in a one on one interaction, extremely strange.

In any case, the coffee is here and now brewed. Time to start a new journey, a new day.


Grease Fire In The Marmalade Mansion

I just received the vinyl edition of OK #1 by The Fall of Troy (if you haven’t heard of them they are a hardcore/post-hardcore band from Washington and you should look their music and performances up like right now!) I really love the design of the album cover and the vinyl itself. Picture taken from their Twitter page (@thefalloftroy)

The digital version dropped sometime in or around the summer. I can’t remember. What I do remember is the feeling I got when I heard that the idea of this thing was even in circulation! My friend Adam and I saw their 10 year anniversary of the release of their Dopplegänger album and the show was insane! I felt like I was watching them from the past and the future all at the same time! It reminded me of a set they played at a club in New York where the crowd was apparently too rowdy and their set got cut short. I believe Protest the Hero may have played that night as well. Funny thing is not too long after shows of that nature didn’t really grace the stage of “The Continental” much after that. Even more recently I was in line there just to meet up with some friends and the stage was GONE. I guess being a music venue wasn’t cutting it.

Regardless, all of these feelings and memories associated with music acts, that practically bring us back in time is such a powerful art. That is what this album is. Check it out for freeeeeze at their band page here !

Happy Monday Everyone!

Haven’t you noticed? A general question about information and the game of telephone.

People will experience strong emotions towards whatever they believe in regardless of what it is. It is what we do as humans. Especially those who have an open mind but only to like opinions.

I have a tendency to go ahead and argue facts that I do not completely understand. Sometimes to see if the source has enough belief in what they are saying to pull for it on all fronts or has the decency, in their persona, to admit when they do not have the sufficient information to justify continuing discussion in whatever direction it may be going in.

Takes a minute to feel the rolling breeze under a tree in the cold of winter’s peak.

Takes a deep breathe and waits.

Several years of having the information given to me from mediums that either left me in strange places I never felt comfortable in or something as simple as snail mail I wondered about the game of telephone. Did the people that gave us the information we take as “word of God” have a sound mind? Were they the upstanding citizens of their time? What about now? Will future historians find our past works and wonder, “This civilization vanished without a trace.” due to our lean towards biodegradable materials and the crutch of digital media? Will we leave a trace but only those who wrote letters to themselves in stone in that yard of the mansion that housed their padded room? Will those letters be all that survive and influence the new age of combat between the barriers of sane and insane or social norm and dissonance?

Gets up from beneath the tree. Dusts off pants and proceeds to walk along a foamy coast line.

Looks like my next job is here.

Leaves an etched stone in the dirt just out of reach of high tide. 

—–[Random character in a similar but different world]—–

(Inspired by Hyperbole writing prompt 11/5/2016)