Empty white boxes

Some of us have a fear of empty white boxes.

Some of us have a fear of boxes that once were empty but now have been prefilled with all kinds of stuff. Appliances, old CDs, bad art from former friends, cables for electronics that were donated to the Salvation Army decades ago, mismatched gloves, mismatched socks, metadata, pens with no ink, pencils with no erasers, empty bottles of white out.

Some of us like to keep a gratitude journal.

Some of us prefer to wallow in hurt, embitterment and resentment.

Some of us see the expansiveness of the universe.

Some us see a world that once was expansive but is now closing in on us faster than we can ever imagine and fell helpless to slow it down to a reasonable pace.

Some of us are attuned to connections and interconnections.

Some of us live in a state of panic as we watch connections and interconnections float away, just out of grasp.

Some of us stare at fish.

Some of us are embarrassed to be caught staring by the fish we are staring at.

Some of us are people of action

Some of us are people who wait for action to come to us.

Some of us are convinced that waiting is an action in itself.

Some of us are tired of waiting, but do our best to ignore it, to brush it under the rug.

Some of us prefer to nap on a memory foam mattress

Some of us prefer to nap on the memoryless tile of the bathroom floor

Some of us wonder what this place is called… this place between napping and not napping. This place between foam and floor. This place between memory and non-memory.

Some of us believe that language is overrated.

Some of us cannot find the words to argue otherwise.

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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