Remember to clean your brushes

I was passing a storefront that seemed to be in between shopkeepers.
The previous one, I assume, had either retired or given up the struggle.
The new one, I expect, is excited about the prospect of running their own shop.
How fun must that be, decorating, setting out your items for sale,
 improving upon the displays and then






waiting.

Its different than no turns left

At The Library

Occasionally I make feeble attempts at reading philosophical works; never sure what I'm hoping to find but somehow still driven to explore.  I was quick to abandon The Republic, by Plato, and now I'm finding Immanuel Kant hurts my brain.

Obviously these are not paths I'm to be taking, but why then do I find myself drawn to them?  What can I possibly be in search of?  I have long since accepted the basic realities of society, the harsh truths of politics as well as the inadequacies of time itself. 

I seem an unfinished canvas hoping I'll one day back-up far enough to see the whole picture, yet being the canvas it remains impossible to back up from myself at all.

I experience being at the library as if I'm riding in a crowded foreign elevator, surrounded by odd languages, casual as well as pressing topics being spoken, all the while watching the descending numbers of time ticking floors off of my life.

Perhaps it is my personal race against time that keeps me searching, looking - hoping to find that one perfect philosophy.  And just maybe it poses the right questions, twisting my Rubics brain into forming the right answers before I reach the bottom floor.

Here's the thing...

These are not buttons.

The numbers are just painted on.

Weeping Willow

Twas the Fall that killed the summer

when leaves fell like tears

through chilled waves of despair

Winter’s breath upon the air-

Don’t paint the child’s playground

as a still-life void of glee –

and weep not as the Willow

for again it soon will be

Young buds now ride the school bus

so fast to grow and be -

in Spring will crowd the branches
of the stately family tree.

zc

Exercise Wheel

Faster

Fun Size My Foot

Wishing to treat myself last week I upgraded my beer purchase.  Instead of my usual, I sprung for Stella Artois.  It is, in my opinion, a great beer, although a tad pricey.

Here it is, a week later, and I just opened the first bottle.  As I poured it into a glass we both noticed something odd.  The bottle appeared to be small.  It was like a toy version of a bottle of beer.

We read the label and discovered it to be 11.2 ounces, instead of the standard 12 ounce size.  What a gyp.

At least you can see the size of a candy bar.  It’s a fraction of what it once was, and everyone knows the scam behind potato chip bags, but to hold back .08 ounces from every bottle and still charge the crazy price…

Well that's enough to drive a guy to drink.

But not the good stuff.

And it happens just that fast

There is a little known segment of time that exists somewhere between the anticipation of popcorn and the stench of burnt popcorn.  Although still classified as a minute – it is actually more of a quick minute.