A Beckoning From?/To?/Of? The People and Culture of Seattle, WA.

Still, I write.

Elders, nay olders

are not wiser, but rather scold-ers

of idealists' dreams.

Airport terminals foster

stale souls

from crisp adventurers.

I see it all.

Still, I write.

Or like a battery's necessary negative

to balance out the red plus.
No.

It is the current

that brings life to its terminal.

And though acid might foster KABOOM,

we well know that KABOOM is necessary

for us to realize,

to organize,

and to fix.

Still, I write.

Journals need an epidemic.

Souls to mind,

mind to ink,

ink to lasting thoughts.

We would

be free.

And though books trump journal sales

twenty to one,

though primetime numbs this once

great nation dumb,

though I fail at practicing

my sermons by only living some

(and that's a gracious estimate!)

Still, I write.

When pearl-nabbing swine

devour good intentions;

when we together indulge

in a moment we'll never mention;

when not mentioning intentions

hacks away our engines' pistons,

and no one listens

Still, I (must) write.

The time is now.

It always has been now.

Get up, live a life worth scribing

and then,

Sit down, scribe it all.
All the little thoughts.

Because the

deeper

you go,

the closer

you get

to the source

of us-together.

And us-together

is the goal,

so GO.

Hope fiercely.

Sprint just to feel the fire live in your lungs (even if its only 20 yards, my big-hearted friends).

Breathe truly.

Jump bounds.

Leap far.

Sleep hard.

Read what you like.

Read what you don't.

Read:

Pirsig,

Rand,

de Botton.

Read:

Bonhoeffer,

Lawrence,

Luther,

Pascal,

Lewis.

Read:

Emerson,

Thoreau,

Kerouac,

Burroughs.

Read:

Socrates,

Plato,

Aristotle,

Epicurus,

Descartes,

Nietzsche.

Read:

Cummings,

Angelou,

King,

Hughes,

Dubois.

Don't dismiss what you don't understand.

Ignorance

is

insolence

with

cards in our pockets,

internet at our fingers,

and eyes in our skulls

and I

won't take it

anymore.

Read what you like, but especially

what you don't.

Crinkle that gray matter grayer,

and let's not reminesce,

but live.

Far from endlessly numbered,

our days spent dazed in lazy haze.

Let's blaze.

Together.

Like torches.