about Sunday morning

The way I feel now, I did not feel when I woke up two hours ago. I woke up, ashes for eyes, marble head. Now signs give me an all-clear. I’m here now—not in waiting for something else, not in service to tomorrow.

 

about a dream that sticks with me

One Sunday morning I was sleeping late and dreamed of lying in bed with X. Lying there, dressed in sleepwear, comfortable in each other's presence, talking. Not about anything in particular—just current events, passing thoughts, and so on. For a moment, my feeling wandered from intimacy to romance, but that feeling passed and I relaxed again. In real life, I would go out of my way to avoid her. And yet, what a treat was this Sunday morning spent together. I wondered later how I could dream something so in conflict with my better judgment. The reason is probably as simple as loneliness. There are few people further away from me than X, so her being so close meant that everyone else was that much closer.

about the illusion of conversation

Pundits often refer to a national conversation. However, the dominant voices in that conversation still come out of the mouths of elites who codify the perspectives that ultimately form the conventions of American thought. For the most part, the public is only listening in on conversations recorded and aired during news radio and television shows and podcasts. Aren't you sick of hearing yourself talk?

Note:
This may be a tiny note that is part of a larger story, which is still under investigation.

Roses are in bloom