A Wormhole in the Hippocampus

Or, a way to explain the way time moves without us realizing it,,, that slippery bastard.


Not hating on time, of course. All due respect to time.


Without doubt, I do believe I am going what some might consider “locally insane.” Not insane in the clinical sense (I should hope) but, by virtue of my situations, I am going insane to myself, with myself. A lovely date for two, if you will. Except the candle-light dinner has turned into quite the scene, with candles on their sides lighting the quaint white sheets into a very pleasant but hectic inferno.

I believe that rainy days are underrated. They are an opportunity to feel great and be up-beat about life despite society’s dictation that rainy days are a bad thing. This, of course, has no influence on me because I see rainy days as a wonderful justification for non-periodic sadness, (as opposed to periodic rainfall) complete with sad music and downward gazes under an umbrella that barely works.

Are you aware of how big your umbrella is? It might do you well to become aware of what you are using to protect yourself from the outside world before you go around poking people in the eyes with it. Just because you are sheltered doesn’t mean everyone else is.

A moment of silence, please, for all of the worms that perish as a result of the rainy days. Imagine being forcefully removed from you home to escape a watery death, only to be run over by a car or stepped on by a shoe of someone who is late for a meeting, unaware of all of the havoc he/she is causing. The small “plips” of worms dying is all too loud for me,,, every single worm has a place in this world, and that place was not meant to be dead on the sidewalk.

Such a shame.

Oh, good news: Three of my basil seeds have sprouted. Coincidentally, it has been dreary in Rochester. Interesting how, just as something begins to sprout, nature has a way of terminating normal, healthy growth. How is one expected to grow on the cloudy days? Nobody is entitled to sunshine. This, to me, is terrifying.

As a final thought, and something that has been on my mind quite frequently in the past week:

Say, for sake of example, I am on fire. What would my primary instinct be? Well, I should wish to run and fetch some water to douse myself. What a tragedy that is, for, as I run to get water, the flames grow with the sudden influx of oxygen. I run faster, feeling the flames get hotter, but alas: the flames will only get more ferocious, more fierce, more hungry as I accelerate. So, it begs the question: If one is on fire, would it be more efficient to merely accept their fate and suffer a longer, but less intense death? (this is subjective, of course, because this too would be rather unpleasant) Or perhaps, run with all of their might in pursuit of the chance of relief?

I’m not quite sure how to word it, but there is something with this that really resonates. The balance between fueling the flames of passion and being consumed by them is a very delicate one. It requires much more introspection. I do believe that, if presented with this situation, I would rather run my ass off in search of relief rather than accept my fate. Acceptance is a great way to die a slow, painful death.


Also, much thanks to my friend Molly Richardson for taking some really neato photos of me. Really appreciate it, friend. You can find her on insta @ mollyrichardson.photo


As always, I hope from the bottom of my heart that you are doing okay. I really, truly do.

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