Today is a game of chess. Breakfast, shower, brush teeth. Book moves. Today can’t be beaten with brute force determination. A day unfolds at its own pace, event by event in shifting landscapes. Each step in its traversal influences its terraforming shape for thousands of steps ahead. Every new minute is born of one past. You will lose until you learn that the bad moves matter as much as the good ones. And even then you will still lose a portion of the time. Your opponents are powerful players and they are experts at getting inside your head. Their whispers are always lapping at your strength, eroding the shores of your concentration and battered judgement. They are simply the wrong sides of you, and their identical genetic makeup can cancel out every one of your efforts in exactly measured opposition. Strategy is all you have beyond this. Knowledge and consideration of basic truths. The immediate benefit can leave you open. The best moves come many previous moves in the making. It is tedious to get into the strongest positions. You have lost every game you have begun recklessly. You have lost every game you have moved straight for the exciting pieces, just to have them bounce off a brick wall. You have to think ahead. You have to adapt to the flowing change, it is not an inconvenience, it is a fact. Trading pieces just to progress the game will end with you losing out, even if it feels like it might be what you need – that sentiment is your opponent’s mind game.
I Found Myself In The Garden
In the garden I found myself. It’s been above the sink all along as I washed the hundreds of dishes in a year. And this one quiet evening I stopped the taps and felt it the same, passive and cold behind glass. And yet it called for me now, in a voice I’d never heard. This first solitary dusk was a calm breath after drowning. There was no coughing or gasping, just a long slow draw from the new air back to life. And as I broke the surface tension, the water drained from my saturated senses. The liquid blur blinked out and the pressurised muffle poured from my ears, rupturing pulsing occlusion from a skull that had numbed to its squeeze. I heard above the gargling bubbles, the echoes of promises I’d made to myself in different times. The call was my own, distant now, from before. And with nothing hanging in the fresh twilight air, I followed it out into the night.
Senior Toothbrush
Small bathroom, tiled all in blue. Watercolour lit in diluted sun through dense cloud then dense glass. The mirror looks on. It’s the morning before the walk before work, resting in one of the last acts of a waning routine that fights me each day while I’m still at my most doughy and malleable. The last of the branches I must plummet through and smack against in sequence, as I fall from dreams down through responsibilities until finally, I buckle against the hard surface of my front door. This final branch is a twig with bright bristles that I ritually smush over and around my cave mouth’s entrance. To dull the colour, and the worry of a breath smell I can’t perceive myself. I press too hard in my insecurity and I chew the stick as I free my hands to tie shoes and zip jackets. I know I shouldn’t, but I struggle in the blur to catch myself.
The Last Day Of June
Today I fell into a pit. Today I ate too much spicy food. Today I didn’t sing very well. Today I listened to all my artefacts. Today I woke up early and left the house late. Today I let the hours slip through my fingers. Today I picked the wrong side of the road to walk home on. Today I ate my whole lunch bag too early. Today my guitar didn’t sound in tune. Today my pedal said it was. Today I looked at maps. Today I copied graphs. Today I spoke some wise words from dark times. Today I noticed the painting hung above the stairs. Today I cancelled abandoned meetings. Today I saw too much. Today I couldn’t look away. Today my head spun like an umpire’s. Today my sandwich had yellow pepper. Today I smacked pillows and blankets. Today I learnt about our videos. Today I consumed our videos. Today I stapled a chunky report. Today I took my time writing a long address on a large envelope. Today my handwriting was tall and nearly neat. Today I lined up the red stamps. Today I curled the envelope to force it past the narrow postbox mouth. Today nothing happened in the small square outside the window. Today I batted a ping pong ball to the beat of my headphones. Today I heard far away voices through my headphones. Today I started my sentence without unmuting my mic first. Today I flicked out short emails. Today the backs of my legs went numb for a while. Today the screen of my hand-me-down phone stayed on for too long. Today I let too much of the wide world into my own atmosphere. Today rush hour felt more rushed than it has. Today a delivery driver materialised from nowhere down a quiet side street. Today gnarled men sped their bikes off the parkway and into the crowded crossing. Today they scared the silent lady next to me and laughed at her as they passed. Today the other guy plowed ahead juggling tennis balls. Today three people waiting at a crossing feels crowded. Today my teeth didn’t thank the water cooler. Today I ate numerous home-baked cookies. Today I saw a magpie. Today our neighbour’s cat watched me as I reached my front door. Today I woke up two minutes before my alarm. Today I showered but didn’t wash my hair. Today my book sat in my backpack unread. Today my hands smell of red spring onions. Today I enjoyed taking off my shoes and socks. Today I opened the window and listened to the birds call across the valley. Today I didn’t spend any money. Today is the last day of June.
Quit Vision 