SONG OF THE DAY: Tumastin

Thought about “going to the ends of the Earth” as a phrase, and how similarly human thought’s always caught up impending end times, and stuck on trying to manage every damn thing. The only reason “the ends of the Earth” mean anything is if you’re trying to map out all the shit, which historically was done as land grab colonizing efforts. Fuck it man, most of us don’t even know the place we live that well, don’t know every street, every step, and we ain’t even gotta get to the end. There’s this dude I follow on social media, Marcher Arrant, and I got some stickers of his on my desk at home to remind me to walk more. How much more? No amount necessary, just more. Walk through the place I live, until I get to places I don’t live and some I never will and others I get bad looks from those afraid I’m coming to take something and then others I get bad looks from those thinking they should take from me. So much world to wander, even within half a mile of where you’re standing. So I’m trying to wander a whole lot more right where I am, every side street and river path, every hidden alley and weird cut through.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’m older, softer, don’t move like I used to, slower, shit can be harder than I feel comfortable with some mornings. There’s this triggered anxiety that OH SHIT, MY TIME IS RUNNING SHORT, which is probably magnified in a dude who shares the same name with his father and grandfather, both of whom were already dead at my age. But fuck it, I don’t have any predetermined time – might be another 46 years, might be two weeks – so all I can do is just maximize the moment, stop minimizing 3000 tabs of to-do that don’t mean shit anyways. Sisyphus should’ve sat the fuck down at some point and drank some lemonade looking at the clouds in my opinion. Maybe write a little poem about the clouds if you feel like it, but you ain’t got to. Could just sit there not doing shit.