There is no substance behind what you do, she said. To make me wonder what is. What are you?– Being in the Heart of the City
Do you want a new heart? A sweet loving heart, so you can learn to love the things you can not see? But I see behind you, like an image ― it is written all over the background. Hell on the water.
That is my offer and my invitation. My fiction and my imagination. To redirect you to it. Any day now. Not what you had in mind?, I get it.
What about a new mind? Or wait ― what about a new body? You just have to have it.
A sales page. To make your product or services known to the world. So you don’t need any of that other crazy stuff. Every day. No more need to walk away.
All I have to do?
Just to make it happen. You ask? You have to know it and then you have to see it and then you have to listen. That’s all.
I don’t know if you know but as this world is turning it is changing for better or worse and we have to decide which way we want to turn to see it.
We are the same
It is pretty hard to see. Because to do good it has to be reflected through someone or something who knows better. We all have the experience of not being reflected and therefore not seen to become more in who we are.
It is common.
But it is harder to be seen if we happen to be typical stereotypes made out of this world only to become concrete. Wood. I wish it was a cartoon and not real.
Almost impossible to be seen through it all or see through it ourselves ― which might be the easiest way if we can just be still.
It is always from two sides. All we have to do is break it from one side to change realities.
The Black Lives Matter movement
Today we have a Black Lives Matter movement which we desperately need. To learn more about equality, to learn about who we are as one human race. A role that has been shown to us not to be played out good enough for all people involved. To ask the question of why and within it finding the answers we need.
A hobo in my mind
I met a hobo once and I shied away. The lowest of the low in my mind and the dirtiest too. Not human at all. I met a hobo twice and asked him about his life. I could see him now. Shining away.
Everything he believed in was wrong though and everything I had believed in too. He believed in people like me to be right. That life is easy when it is hard.
We had to convince each other ― it takes so long. What gives time to make this world so wrong.
Light and easy with a happy smile I go on with mine. Concrete he begs for me to smile at him. No way in hell. Life is not that easy.
I mock him just like when he was a child and no one saw what the others did. To make it all about him when he tried to tell someone like me. I said it is not about you with all the about me I had in my mind.
A paradox ― maybe we are both at the same time.
So our stories go on until we are seen or see the side we are standing on? Is the same side as any side any human will ever be on. If they were to call it their own life?
We are the same ― well maybe we don’t have the same shoes?
Every day he takes on his shoes, he told me. I looked at them but I could hear him now. It was his own shoes and as it was it was also his own story but left to be told.
He also loved nature. The sparkling snow on blueberry leaves. Even when it was so cold outside and it made it hard to be at all.
He had to die or he died that summer.
If he’d only had some new shoes maybe? I brought him new shoes on his gravestone to say where he had not walked. But who was I to know where his mind had gone?
No people, no flowers but a new pair of shoes. I had put them beside the gravestone with his name on it. It was for the future ― the only thing I knew as I wondered if he did too.
For the heart in it
He was not evil and had no gentle wish for death. But if he was and if he had. He would have been unconnected to this world by heart in general and crave for death in all of us.
Imagine what it would be like. How it comes across to be your own shoes?
Not the way you walk but life itself. We can feel it ― the dirt but never see it before it changes us. By the color of no human nature.
And because we are changed and because there is no story to be told.
If we tell anyway because we don’t have it ― the story. All people have a need to tell and not only to tell but to be heard as well. Not to become the causes for hell.
By changes not made in the past to break the chains. But with new shoes?
It will be done even from the side of death by me? Because he saw me or I saw him and because it was a memory I had I could take to the play of life.
And play it?
Play it until there are no differences between us and people would not be able to tell if I was a black man walking or a dead man begging for your smile.
You know love is like art it will always call for more. In sense of what you believe.
Did you know love is like the knowledge that shines up behind you and it will make people believe who you are? If you do what you are.
Whatever you do it will always be there ― unless you change. As you walk and talk there is nothing you can do about it. What is visible to see is history.
Hopeless because as a hobo that was kind of what I had to do for a living. Walk, maybe talk a bit for anyone to listen. My dreams only got as far as to the evenings. Was it gonna be cold and really I don’t like that food.
What they call thieves I call it a living. I applied for a job once but the look they gave me. They looked right through me and I knew that look.
You might believe it was my clothes or my dirty impression, but no I had stolen some clothes that day and it was summer. When it is easier to find ways to shower.
My own place
Once I even got my own place. Nice and all but what the hell was I to do? Am I suppose to sit in here all day and sleep right? I just couldn’t figure it out.
I dreamed a hell of a lot when I lived there. I reckoned it as useless though ― what to use it for? It wasn’t like it was my job or anything. Suddenly assigned to dream while sleeping while money was flowing in.
I couldn’t become better and better or even remain nice.
I have no idea where I got the money to start drinking. Drinking my life away almost for a reason to get kicked out from wherever it was.
Tragic how people live but not if you ask me.
I felt that he looked
at my shoes and
and after that
a hairball too
Connected like spirits
beyond the pain