Now What/What Now

Why do I always feel like the hands I interlock in front of me, and the elbows on my knees, and the eyelids that go down, and up, and down, and up, don't belong to me. Sensation is such a beautiful and strange thing if you think about it.

I'm trying to be happier, like choose happiness. I figured that, for myself, I have to redefine happiness; in light of my obscured perception of joy, and the sensation therein. I'm finding something out though. I'm a little excited about it. For me now, happiness is very discretionary. It's a little hard to explain so bear with me. Happiness occurs very arbitrarily recently: A moment of haphazard eye contact with a stranger on the bus, or a stranger utters a word from their beautiful lips and I kind of fall in love with them for just a minuscule moment, or a frozen juncture in the ocean where it's enough for me that there is an ocean, and trees, and turtles.

Hopefully I'm being understood. 

I am starting to realize that my expectation for the world is totally off, and that is the root of my problem. I've accepted that life is never a painting for life, uh... let me try again: Life will never feel how you want it to look in a picture (like on instagram) and that's something I've been letting guide me recently. 

Whatever.

“People don't realize that the future is just now, but later.” 
-Russell Brand

(a Revolutionist)

peeling dressers

I laid in the bed of sheetless thinking
I reached back behind the dresser of food, and books of ink
The dresser was a plywood pile of wood in a sellable shape.
Over the plywood is a stensil of real wood making it appear rich
I peel the stencil off the back nervously,
wondering if they'll see this in the inspection at eviction
but not caring that much.
He had a nervous tick, the pile of plywood with satisfyingly peelable stencil was within reach
so it gets peeled.