Futur Mist

Sometimes love occasionally changes us into our higher selves who we would otherwise not know, given our base thoughts and mundane movements. It brings us to a point at which we act with poise and sincerity that is naturally above us and is unrehearsed in its genuine beauty. I bring myself to a point at which I try to remain elevated, but none of it is possible without love. Some of it has been invested in me and much of it emanates outward in waves to which it sometimes intercepts others. I embrace you that together we build ourselves so that as a collective we can lift the universe. For that, my hand must be in your hand and we must look at one another in the eyes with kindness and acceptance. Through us the web of consciousness will rise.

We will build cities and we will travel the stars and we will live forever.

The knower

If you lie on a bed of pillows, spread out beholding later, wondering if it’s better than now, only to later find out that it is, it is for no other reason that you are chosen to embark when others are not. Transported, you, into a place others don’t care to follow. See if you’re prepared for what comes. Come with I. I beckon unto you that you follow, into the milk white and light pinks and high pitched screams. If you understand, knower, come know me and see the other place. In the darkness, in the holes, in the caves not hard but soft, padded soft cushions, into the walks with hands. I beckon thee, knower, come know me.

The arrogance of thinkers

You should always be on the lookout for when people call you arrogant. It’s sometimes true, but more often than not it’s what people say to you when they think you’re living above your station. They will talk to you like you’re a small person and are shocked when you don’t accept it. Slowly or quickly you’ll climb through life, experiencing successes and failures. Throughout life’s ebbs and flows, one thing remains certain, that some frail human who also has to go to the toilet will tell you you think too highly of yourself. Don’t believe them.

My ancestors were brought on ships to the western hemisphere to be sold for currency. When they finally freed themselves, taking their fishing boats here and there, one thing remained certain, that no matter where they went people barely able wipe their asses tried to tell them who they were and what they should do.

The answer remains and will forever be no.

No, you don’t own me. No, I don’t have to accept the way you talk to me. No, I won’t live in a manner that degrades me. I am who I decide I am and not what you’ve decided. I come and go as I please. In wealth and in poverty, I’m free.


The talk and appearance of serious people isn’t really a reflection of reality. You can see it in dead eyes and scripted words, practiced many times before a mirror, that elites are polished but that emoting the way sincere people emote is a lost art, something cast aside as garbage by those perceived to be responsible adults.

We watch helplessly as our favorite restaurants and stores are replaced, mass produced and packaged for us so that every place we visit looks like a shopping mall. It’s seeing the death of places for people to feel at home and congregate that we ask if there’s freedom for people to express themselves and have a personality. We ask if there are any places available to us in the the world that will not be carved up into uniform masses dotted with corporate logos.

I asked a friend to take to a walk with me and their pragmatism was saddening: They insisted on a destination; they wanted to know if we could run errands along the way; they were so conditioned to be productive that they didn’t know how to turn off the switch that made them produce.

Churches, mosques, and temples are going empty. When we visit the desert, we no longer hear divinity calling to us the way it called to our ancestors. We’ve replaced magical fires with fluorescent lighting. All of this is happening in the name of of profit and civilization, the same civilization that exploits and enslaves, the same civilization that hoards billions of dollars but spends pennies on giving the world clean water and food.

It’s easy to make the mistaken assumption that advancing technology is indicative of an advance in compassion. Now, with a few key presses I can communicate with people in India, Pakistan, Nigeria, Russia, and Croatia, but with the same ease misinformation can be spread more efficiently than it was spread during the first half of the 20th century. We sense it and grow increasingly cynical, not knowing if any particular media outlet is trustworthy. Having cast aside the news on a macro-level, we rely on tangibles on a micro-level, our families and friends, our local stores and infrastructure. But even our homes are being sanitized and diluted. We must fight back.

I ask you to do a single expressive thing, to paint, to write, to simply talk to another person without regurgitating information you’ve already seen and heard. Similar to CAPTCHA, this it your opportunity to say, “I am not a robot.”

Feeling sick

It’s not unusual for anyone to feel sick but I think of the myriad outcomes. I could be out in the cold, without a home and sick. I could be in a comfortable bed, watching TV, eating chicken soup and sick. I could be working while sick, making others sick.

When my body rebels, I learn if anyone will care for me or if I’m truly alone in the world. There is no worse feeling than being alone and unwell.

“In sickness and in health, till death do you apart”. I wonder who thought of that and I also wonder how many people get dumped by their partner when sick, dealing with heartache and illness simultaneously. It’s the type of cruel joke only life knows how to play, but there’s hope that someday it all ends.