Sophisticated symbiotic laughs and the crackle in her silk thoughts remind you of distant lands and dreams that you once bought, for her to one day live in until the end of dot dot dot.
is the artist that you see walking past you in the street.
doesn’t believe in love, but believes in romance.
can’t always find his socks.
the rule of thumb, and an advocate to go against it.
is the belief that this world could be a better place, and only we can make that happen.
has a wonderful family that he calls his own.
has friends that rival with the best out there.
is invincible and completely destructable.
is the voices you hear in the far away woods, the echoes of thousands of years of angst.
writes about relationships between lovers and friends.
paints in pictures, now un written.
remembers thoughts of unidentified futures.
62. An elephant’s memory is a truly remarkable thing; only thing more remarkable is a woman’s memory of her lover’s mistakes. – To Love or Not To Love, That is Art.
The room was dimly lit with candles drooling away the wax onto the rough paper plates, thought of at the last hour. Twenty men and women sat and stood in anticipation. The door swung letting escape a beam of light illuminating the dull grey carpet. A shadow appeared in the light. It grew in size and soon turned into a man six foot in size, with an Armani suit wrapped around him, a thick mustache and a million dollar smile. The office erupted with cheers yelling “surprise” in twenty different tones lacking harmony. There were a few that stretched the word to unnatural extents, while others stopped short, mid word even. The disruption shook me off my desk and landed me on the floor. The room realizing my fall rushed to my support. I steadied myself and went to shake my aging bosses hand. He stood tall with his eyes focused into mine and smiled no different than the generic smile he had given the tens of other offices under his dominion.
We knew his name, his mothers name, definitely his sons name, and he couldn’t remember even one of ours. We knew his hobbies and histories and he couldn’t tell the faces apart. It was part of the corporate life to suck up to your superiors in hopes of making your life better. This was the result for the murdering years in college. This was the life, friends, family; it all became mashed into the work place in some way or another. Many of my friends were my co-workers standing in that very room greeting Mr. Tonekilt. My love life mostly originated in the slim corridors of our departments, on or outside the elevators, and sometimes at the receptionist’s desk. Less than a few days before walking down the corridors I had seen one of the new secretaries scolded by an acquaintance of mine. I stepped in and as a result got a date with her that just happened to land on Tonekilt’s birthday.
Time will remember who you were and what you did, never the relationships you had. But it’s the relationships you had that enable you to become the person that time chooses to remember.
There stood Death in his nightly robes, and opposit him stood Love in it’s petal drapes. If they would have fought, Love would win. Yet, eternity passed and they both stood staring one another in the eyes.
What is the meaning of Disheveled Hobo. That is a question I’m often asked. So this is a post that will try to recreate what Disheveled Hobo has morphed into over the years. It starts a long time ago when I was in High School as I came across the mystified words. For some reason I was drawn to the sophisticated placement of the word disheveled with the often underestimated word hobo.
Disheveled is a state of being that can result from mental or physical trauma, on a major or a minor level. It’s shabby but not unorganized. Disheveled is a state achieved with curiosity and care. It is Einstein on the days that he spends pondering the universe. It’s the philosopher who doesn’t care for outward appearances because he cares so deeply of his personal mental state. This is Disheveled in Disheveled Hobo.
I’d like to visit a museum and or gallery and inhale some art… who is with me?
The editor just finished my book! We are closer than ever people.
To everyone out there, Merry Christmas and thank you for being in my life in this merry time of the year. Live well and prosper… what else was I supposed to say?
Patterns of your heart will find you making traces in your mind that define you.
We are possibly doing ‘Bring your own Shorts Night’ at the Community house next thursday. Will you want to come?
Setting up for ‘It’s a wonderful Life’ come help out!
