e me r son

“Hence instead of Man Thinking, we have the bookworm” -Emerson

Go read The American Scholar because it’s only 10 pages and it is beautifully written and it is life changing.

e me r son

I am facing

a man. He is slowly drinking dark beer, intermittently browsing his iphone, infrequently looking out the window to my left. The sun is falling into the room and passing him by. His hair is a gray, a little too long and he is balding; he doesn’t have many wrinkles; he is wearing a short-sleeved collared shirt. It is red.

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I am facing

wait, these lyrics are genius


I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
of the space between our chairs
and I was a cartographer
of the tangles in your hairI sighed a song that silence brings
it’s the one that everybody knows
oh everybody knows
the song that silence sings
and this was how it goes

these looms that weave apocryphal
they’re hanging from a strand
these dark and empty rooms were full
of incandescent hands

and awkward pause
a fatal flaw
time it’s a crooked bow
oh time’s a crooked bow

in time you need to learn to love
the ebb just like the flow

grab hold of your bootstraps
and pull like hell
‘till gravity feels sorry for you
and lets you go
as if you lack the proper chemicals to know
the way it felt the last time you let yourself
fall this low
oh time
it’s a crooked bow
time’s a crooked bow

fifty-five and three–eighths years later
at the bottom of this gigantic crater
and armchair calls to you
yeah this armchair calls to you
and it says that
some day
we’ll get back at them all
with epoxy and a pair of pliers
as ancient sea slugs begin to crawl
through the ragweed and barbed wire
you didn’t write you didn’t call
it didn’t cross your mind at all
and through the waves
the waves of a.m. squall
you couldn’t feel a thing at all
you’re fifty-five and three-eighths tall


wait, these lyrics are genius


from approx 245 days ago about approx 335 days ago

a liminal space


The stillness of a museum is an empty sort of still. The rhythm of steps echoes across the floorboards and the white walls have sharp angles in rectangular rooms. This room of calm painted color blocks  is empty for now but I hear them approaching from far away.

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How often does the Lord come to us as he did to the travelers on their way to Emmaus? We are unknowingly walking with Christ long before we realize; we are downtrodden, unsure, low in spirits; we think that we saw salvation and have just missed it. Then he comes, he is walking with us and we are telling Him all that he already knows. But He listens. He tells us we are foolish and reveals to us new insight. But we still cannot see it is Christ until we break bread.


This Song


Luke 24:12-35 (5th Matins Gospel)


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