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To paraphrase or quote the Soup Dragons' album title, "This is my art." This random babble inspired by being 'not-quite-right,' a little left or right of center, something not quite ordinary because it's just coming into being just now.

Just now, just here, nowhere else.

My buddy Jack, back in the day, he made it his life and called it genius. I'm tempted to disagree, to call it blather or worse, just plain crap, and yet, it is this moment as it flows from mind through fingers and into digital stasis.

I've come to know hell in most of its incarnations. Its frustration and trivial dissatisfaction is like home now, watching this world sink and flounder, so many lonely lost souls seeking and searching for elusive Truth, hidden Grace. Subtly hidden, subtly elusive...always so near, always at hand, but kept at bay by deception of idols.

Heartening as I find like-minded others, kindred spirits and souls seeking, searching, hoping, dreaming, working towards visions we can barely describe. We reach beyond moon, sun, stars, grasp at straws that would let us savor this life at our leisure even as we work ourselves beyond exhaustion. I watch our efforts as they take root, wonder at their growth, wonder at the impending Roundup and play a few favorite songs to pass the time, pass the cup, pass the tests we invent to persuade ourselves we're making progress. Meanwhile we moan and groan silently, waiting for relief, praying for an end to the oppression we create for ourselves, the price we agree to pay for the means to the end.

Whatever end there may be, with crossed-fingers and crosses left behind, we rise triumphant as losers in a loser's game of Monopoly on Life, seek chutes, ladders, and tic-tac-dough boy's always connecting the dots and directing our vision toward the heavens from whence we come, to which we return and linger waiting.

Beneath the surface, martyred hearts yet beat, thrive, strive and issue a resounding No to the powers that would be, that would claim, that would wish to control and dominate. With free will aligned to true freedom we rise together and uphold what remains of clear truth, of clarity in reason and excuse the sins of our fathers for we've yet to know what we do...

Humbly subjected and dejected, poor and downcast, ready for bed, for a long winter's sleep, we grin at each other knowing the outcome and knowing the farce we face has yet to manifest itself, has yet to attempt its claims of superior self-righteousness...knowing we lurk but knowing not where nor how we survive.

Natural light encompassing and upholding, our eyes open wide to glory unimaginable even though foreseen. We rise, wise, sighs cast off with the poetry of old that held us back, held us in comfort of consumption and made it all seem worthwhile. Yet as I hit return, I know return is imminent and unsearchable, hidden from those who have yet to see and hear, but clear to the wide-eyed wonder kind of folks working without rest, despite sleep, for better ways and better days.

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