Saturday Afternoon

Remember. Not because it's important

But because forgetting is the most natural human act

You're going to waste your Sunday morning coffee,

hunted by the Saturday afternoon

torn between the need to do something,

for something to happen to you

and the comfort of an uncleaned coffee spill

There are men who lay awake on random nights of the week

worried about how pointless the Sunday morning coffee is going to be

if it doesn't spill and take their minds off 

all the eerie happenings of the Saturday afternoon

I once made a promise to someone 

that I will not be one of those men

It was on a Saturday afternoon

Now I can't wait for the lovely lady to bring me my coffee.

30s in 20s

Forget your instincts and dreams; 

Take my obligations

Turn them into aspirations. Make them your own.

Borrowed aspirations bring borrowed success.

You don't want to be that man. Or this man.

Conspire then, alone, with yourself

against your self. Tell yourself that this will be enough

You're not made for things of vanity

No, not born for them either

There is no story. Who has the time for stories?

For prolonged narratives of epicness?

Use this metaphor and stab yourself with it. 

Say that you won't aspire, or conspire against yourself

That you don't want to be that man. Or this man.

Or don't. It's not like they're listening anyway. 

This Without That

Of isolation without solitude

Of getting older without growing up

Of losing without loss

Of winning without victory

Of permanence without possession

Of anger without aggression

Of motion without direction

Of progression without destination

Of ships without anchors

Of lighthouses without ships

Not pointless. Just half.

Somewhat insidious. Necessary, nonetheless.

A sign of life. A prelude to an advertisement.