In exile, part 12

There’s something about living in a strange city where one doesn’t  know anyone on the eve of a tyrannical regime that is a bit off putting. What can one do? 

One wanders. 

One wanders into a concert but does not hear music

One wanders into a movie theater but does not see the screen

One wanders into a restaurant and eats nothing but carbs. And then more carbs. And then more after that. 

One wanders into a wifi coffee place with one’s ipad to try to write something meaningful and transformative. Something that will change you. 

One notices how all of the unhealthy foods have softened the brain when sharpness is what is needed. 

One thinks about the errands not done. The groceries not shopped for. The laundry unlaundered. 

One looks out on the street at the people crossing the crosswalk and one feels some inexplicable moment of uplift that does not reallly have any relationship to anything. 

One notices that this is the moment when hope has arisen. 

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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