Sunday, February 21, 2010
I used to do this thing where I have someone stand before and I reach my arm as far as it could go. My closed hand would hover an inch away from their face, and I'd tell them to be as still as possible. I'd throw my fist at them over and over and miss them perfectly. Never once have I punched someone in the face from this act.
I have a cigar, a gift from Cuba from a friend, that I have been sitting on for a while now. I keep it hidden in a fake cigar box (McSweeney's 19th issue) for a time of celebration. The fact it still rests in that box, with the odor of Cuban tobacco seeping into the pages that fill the box, I wonder when such a time for cigar victory will be mine. When will I grasp the day, and call it my own. When will I look at my past with a grin knowing little of the harder times, the sadder times, the nothing-really-going-on times? When will I forget this little person I am today, when will I leave this plane of existence for another? When will evolution be not a thought or idea, but a means of living?
I see a face or two a day, that brings me to thoughts of possibilities. I ask myself if I am strong enough, if my foundation is still well held, and if my soul has enough calcium. I want to be that person who is a double figure before me, with all my thoughts as a separate vessel. I want that image to float before me, as I carry on, trying to reach what is there.
And where quotes are said,
"I'd rather chase an illusion than my own shadow."