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musings & scribbles

On balance: Our ignorance, our obsession

As a noun, balance is a perception of the distribution of proportions; coincidentally, as a noun, balance is also a majority of proportions. Humans tend to overlook the latter if we feel the former is maintained to our liking. In other words, the world is viewed as being fair if we are treated fairly; we tend to not visualize others’ views, then, because theirs are overshadowed by our own. This is our ignorance. Inversely, if we feel we do not have a majority of or equal proportions, we look intently at the distribution of proportions to provide insight into whether another does have a majority of proportions, and, if another does have a majority, we analyze why they have a majority. In other words, the world is viewed as unfair if we are not treated fairly; we tend to visualize others’ views in relation to our own, then, because theirs overshadow our own. This is our obsession.

Beyond the simple definitions above, we innately depend on balance as a means to both perceive and interact with our existence. We treasure symmetry as a sign of perfection and familiarity, to the point where asymmetry is valued to offset symmetry’s ideal with its opposite. Balance is integral to our species, and to that end we make obvious representations (yin & yang, tortoise & hare, light & dark,…) to remind ourselves how we strive for balance. We also use a perception of gravitational balance to physically position ourselves as we see fit; we use balance for our basic means of mobility.

I do not know the struggles my daughter will go through, just as I do not know the struggles her grandmothers, protestors for peace & equality, went through. I also do not know the life-altering situations she will go through, just as I do not know the life-altering situations my uncle, a retired police officer, went through. I do know, however, that she will face both, and that her race will be a factor, no matter how hard her grandmothers and great-uncle fought to free her from that burden.

Justice is not blind; justice is a glacier slowly, surely, melting from the ever-burning sun of societal changes; justice denies more balance than is granted, until the denials pile and fall off the scale, replaced by, but still weighed against, the balancing of society.

We value balance in all things. We find symmetry to be beautiful, and feel so strongly that we must also find asymmetry to be just as beautiful.

Quotes the Ninth / Asinine

Sweat marched on his brow, to pillage his composure and burn his eyes.

The hairs of his mustache spun themselves onto his lips, dancing their 8-legs when he dared to be silent.

Frost builds on the unheated glass, clear but now hard to see through.

Rare are her smiles, so he collects and tags them to be recalled later, when time permits and he’s alone again.

She loosened her fingers from her palm, hoping he’d make use of them sooner/now and not when they’ve tensed again.

He forgets the weight of words on shoulders bearing the stress of being his wife.

They wash their towels after wading in the mold of their shower.

Children ask, “why?,” to better understand; adults state why to avoid having to understand.

The endless, “why?,” should always be used to help understand every situation. Dig in; don’t walk away.

Adults tend to skip the why’s. (Homophone on purpose.)

I work backwards so I can know how to get where I already am.

Life is easier when you show your work; otherwise, people seem to think you’re a simpleton with epiphanies.

Always dry your hands before you start drying dishes. This logic can be used for anything else you may be doing.

I now prefer, “make sure your hands aren’t wet before drying the dishes.” Less redundancy, more imagery.

They’re usually the smartest one in the room, unless they catch themself in the mirror.

Push, pull, remain.

She has complete control only inside her house; otherwise, she lashes at everyone.

We’re all puppies. Not weeds in a garden.

If you weren’t a baby, I might call you a name.

She talks with her whole mouth.

To the blind reader, what’s written means what they’re told.

They breathe with their teeth. A real teeth-breather.

He finds time to whine. He berates to settle into himself.

(title)

See, now, where I come from,
The warm blue skies puff a little bit,
The wet green leaves sway a little bit,
The wild purple petals surprise a little bit,
And every stop sign is a turn toward home.

(title)

Every day, the wind goes by,
Every day. The wind goes by,
And, when it stops, I will miss it,
Until it goes by again.

Every day, the wind goes by,
Every
Day
The wind
Goes by, and,
When it stops,
I
Will miss it,
Until
It goes by
Again.

(title)

Listen to me tell you everything is OK,
But, please, don’t record this conversation,
Because I don’t want to later hear
All these fallacies

(title)

we all want to be
better than we are,
but so few bother
not to be who others see.

gave you the better part of my vaulted heart,
broken in cuz I threw out the key
and trying to be who you need me to be,
and trying to be who we need me to be.

see behind us, sitting on that bench
in the middle of a bright afternoon,
watching the fountain as you
slip to sleep on my shrugged shoulder,
and our fingers find way to be clasped
as they ought to be, as they always are,
and your breathing grows & slows,
like it does when you’re satisfied;
I shake my gaze from your figure,
reminiscing of the trips, and I miss
you even though you’re right there,
mostly because I know life is short,
though we’re in 2049 and can’t seem
to give up on being us just yet.

I like to think of Candi and I on this park bench, surrounded by the animated youngsters so inclined to visit, with our grey hair, and my billed cap, and we’re sitting, content, happy by virtue of having no stress, and just thinking about everything up to that point. that’s how I want to live my life: to get to that spot in time, old enough to know what we had and young enough to appreciate what we still have. every stupid decision I make is only stupid if it keeps us from that.

He had no where to go

Except
Down
The gutter,
Palming the raindrops
Which circled
And coalesced m
Under his feet;

He belonged closer to the
Ground, but let
That sour wind
Bring him
Again

Up the water spout.

(title)

“She exists,”
I tell myself
When alone enough
To wonder if
There’s anyone else. 

(title)

Every time you walk
Through
That door,
I learn about you
I learn
A little more;
You make me be a
A better me– you
Make me be a better me–
Possibly? Possibly.

(title)

I’m laughing to think of
All the days we spent,
Travelers lodged for the night,
Greeting each other to sleep;
I’m laughing to think of
All that we’ve come from
To be here, about to be three
Or more– I’m laughing to think of
How these nerves line skin and shrink
At thought of you, just like they did
When we were young and dumb and
Had so much more to come– I’m
Laughing to think of who you were to me
Before we could be, and who I was
To you, PissAnt, before we could be–
I’m laughing to think of
How my cheeks squeeze these eyes to bleed
Tears they know will dry on gleaming smile,
Waiting for yours to show itself and then we
Can be these, we three or more, and laugh
To ourselves for all to see.

musings & scribbles