Distant

I may begin to seem that way. But it has little to do with you. Just think of it as an act of self-preservation.

The difference is, we wake up

There are times when I realize I have fallen asleep. Not in my bed or sitting in my chair, but just in life. I am walking and talking and smiling and working. And I am asleep. And it’s intentional. Because that sudden gasp of air and wide-opened eyes that come when you wake up might be too much. It might be too much to look around and see how this world really is—and where I am in it.

But I must. Because feigning sleep is a child’s response. And I can’t claim that innocence.

Lo único que importa es continuar

Last night I watched a documentary about immigrants from Mexico and Central America who try to cross the U.S.-Mexico border illegally. One Mexican man who they followed on his journey said this:

“Before you leave, there will be many people here who will only tell you negative things. Like ‘watch out for snakes’ or ‘the ranchers might kill you.’

“And when you are on the journey, a lot of people will tell you, ‘Don’t continue, la Migra is up ahead.’ But what am I to do with that information? Turn back? I have to keep going. The point is to keep going.”

Lo único que importa es continuar.

All that matters is that I keep going.

Remuneration

I feel it creeping, always a few steps behind me. If I slow down too long, if I stop for a breath it will catch me. And then comes the darkness. Doubt and fear and knowing that I am failing. That I may not be who I want to be and that I definitely never planned to be here—not now, not ever. That things may not work out in the end.

So I steady my pace and try not to look over my shoulder except when I have to. To remind myself that I have to keep pushing even as my body fails. To remind myself that one day there will be an accounting. And I’m the one responsible for all this.

The Sin of the Fathers

I’ll look for the answer in the bottom of this pint glass. If it’s not here, then the next. And then we can talk and I’ll threaten to walk out and maybe even do it—again. But I won’t mean it. It’s just what I need to do to breathe. Just something in my genes, this tendency to leave.

The Monsters and Magic of Entropy

I just came to and realized that I have toppled head first down the rabbit hole of information theory. I have only a vague sense of how I got here. I remember reading Umberto Eco, typing out a quote, looking up a term. I might have clicked on a hyperlink. But now I’m face to face with the monsters and magic of entropy, black holes, transinformation, and Kullback-Leibler divergence and have no idea how to extricate myself without triggering a quantum data loss or a disequilibrium resulting in certain theoretically-posited molecular annihilation.

The Mustard Seed Revolution

Yesterday, I fully realized that I am more interested in prophets than profits. I am more interested in an economy of love and peace than an economy of money and power. More in reconciliation than retribution.

Maybe this makes me unfit for this world. Or maybe it makes me perfectly fit to change it.

After the beep

I can usually say that I’ve left my sentimental days behind me—years behind me, in fact. But the “it’s me” in the voicemail you leave means more than it should to me because I’ve been trained to read into things that only seem to need to be read into, or at least taken out of context enough for me to separate word from meaning and make a textual scene from a mere informality.

How it doesn’t

Yesterday I had trouble getting in because the keypad on the door of my apartment building wasn’t working. It doesn’t work quite often, but this time it was doing something different. I thought to myself, that’s not how it doesn’t usually work.

I’m seeing a girl who tells me that she tries to make me smile because she loves my smile. She holds my hand when we walk down the sidewalk and understands without me having to say a word. And I think, this is not how it doesn’t usually work.

A Winter Away

I understand that we all have seasons in our lives. But what happens when season lasts too long? What if a winter didn’t break for years? Would the grass remember how to grow or the sun to shine? Would the birds still find their way back—and sing their song? Would one remember the warmth of a summer sun on his face?

On a solitary, twenty-three degree night in Denver, Colorado, these are my concerns.

Academic, again

I have resumed my academic pursuits once again—namely, work on my dissertation. So, if in a conversation with you I start talking about Godwinian anarchism or atavistic response to crisis, just ride it out. I’ll stop talking eventually.

All I need

Tonight I chose to be alone. I left a group of friends at the pub to come home and, in silence, think. I left because I realized that friend can never mean much of anything in this world. I say that because we all believe in lies. Lies that tell us what we should want, who we should be…who we should be with. And anyone (everyone) who is lost in this blessed deception can never be trustworthy.

What is friend compared to Savior? Or mate compared to Lord?

He is all I need. He is all I need.

Syllogistically Speaking

I’ve realized that I’m at a place in my life that don’t need a woman. What I mean is that I don’t need a woman to take care of me or to make me happy. I manage to remember to shower and feed myself most of the time, and I’m pretty darn happy with my life. However, I think the only way that I’ll stop opting to fall asleep in my recliner instead of going to bed is through the influence of a woman. So, syllogistically speaking, if going to sleep in a bed instead of a recliner is a beneficial to me, and a woman is the only way to get me to bed from my recliner, then a woman is beneficial to me. Or at least deductive reasoning would argue such.

Updating my status...

Matthew is losing touch with his dreams. In the wake of the apparent losses he is forging new ones. Dreams of waking to the sunrise. Of bicycling from Denver, Colorado to Eastland, Texas. Of doing what he has always been afraid to do. Of giving the best he has on behalf of another and never expecting anything in return. Of really not caring what others think. Of losing his life to find it. Of letting another praise him, and not his own lips. Of being joyful always. Of becoming a servant to all.

The Answer in the Anomaly

Because a smile broke out this weekend more times than I can count. And I meant every one. Because a friend asked me questions I couldn’t answer, and I found peace in that. Because I woke up late but got there right on time. Because a coffee shop conversation found mystery in hope.

Because a promise realized pays the debt of patience tenfold.

the one

Some day I'll stop being "the one who got away" and start being the one who will never leave.

Rules of Consumption

If, hypothetically, one were to get a beer buzz (some might say beer 'drunk') on a Saturday night, one should follow that up with a whiskey buzz (some might say whiskey 'drunk') on Monday night. After doing so, one might realize that this talk of “alcohol tolerance” may, in fact, be a myth.

The New Romance

A touch of the leg, a brush of the hand and I’m sure that I’m just a pawn in a move that breaks every rule of every game that we’ve made but who’s for rules because the joy is in the breaking out of the noise that ended you last time and who’s to say(?) such a double-edged play might end with you in or near my bed or at least leave you feeling less dead than the night when loneliness put a bullet through you.

A Broken Temple

If my body is a temple, then it’s a broken one. Shattered stained glass and cracks in the foundation. Only just standing. And now it’s poisoned. I didn’t do the breaking but I drank the poison because I thought the only antidote for pain would be numbness.

I desperately need a mason and a carpenter and stained-glass painter who can fix this mess of a hollowed-out holy place unfit for a savior of your kind. But the shingles are slipping and the arches are crumbling. Please come quickly. Please come quickly.

I'm not very good at being alone at night

And some times it gets to me.