chriskaasi

Theres a weird clear sheen on reality just before sunset and I swear I think its probably god or probably good or probably something of some kind of importance. I noticed it there on the water at the lake when the reflected sky had made that final push past late-afternoon orange-glimmer. There were ducks to my right wandering or maybe meandering or whatever it is that ducks do. They would stop and peck at a spot on the ground and then move a few feet in a new direction and survey the land from that perspective. I had all kinds of god in my head all kinds of life all kinds of death all kinds of somethings all kinds of nothings dead relatives dead pets hatreds of ego-oriented societal norms that always end up with someone or something being dominated for no good reason and thank god fishing season finally came to a close. I keep seeing the beginning and the end playing on an endless loop to the point that Ive been spun out of it cast off and left to watch from a distance til it no longer pertains to me, but the part in the middle was Sherry and Erin and so much beer and September 11th and dating shows on TV in the middle of the night with the most annoying surface-level extroverts ever. There was Jamie Markum and the day she got implants and that time we sat in the hot tub at 3AM, and I was too drunk to remember, but her bathing suit was green and had flowers on it. Her hair was strawberry blonde and her eyes were bright blue she was so tan and so tall. Theres instant after instant after instant, laced together like a comic strip drawn on the bottom corner of textbook pages, flipped by some bored hand until it takes on the look of motion. A million different instants forming a thing called me, but ultimately this me is still hollow still nothing still just a perpetual fading a nothing process a void aware of its own emptiness.

Back by work, back by buildings, back by the parking lot and concrete things without meaning, the wind is blowing, rustling the leaves in the trees and the flowers near the well-manicured walkway which look just like the flowers at the well-manicured walkway down there at the other entrance and over there too, and at those other buildings across the street. Traffic is flowing street lights are changing green, yellow, red, green, yellow, red, dancing an unspoken dance with other streetlights all over the city a rhythm no one listens to, but people always wind up at empty fast food restaurants at the same time It was totally dead in here five minutes ago all these people just came outta nowhere. (Restaurant Boy) The city is its own body.

My part of the world is turning away from the sun fading to black passing it on to the west so millions of other people can have their random sunset thoughts while they sit at empty made-for-corporate lakes and wander through lonely post-work parking lots. They too, can wonder why theres something as opposed to nothing. They too, can agonize over their somethings becoming nothings and all the somethings they once knew that became nothings during the course of their lifetimes. Theres a weird clear sheen on reality just before sunset and I think its probably god or probably good or probably something of some kind of importance.

Back in my office, back by the ultimate fading, the walls are gray, the carpets are gray, the cubes are gray, the ceiling is gray, the filing cabinets are gray, the computers are gray, the printers are gray, the fax machines are gray, the atmosphere is gray. The place is empty except for the cleaning crew two women from Bosnia and one woman from Africa. Their voices soft-echo in the random halls a quiet sparkling broken English unifying them. We all haunt an empty building full of empty cubes and empty offices. I notice a radio left unattended still playing after everyone has gone home its the Motels Only the Lonely

You mention the time we were together
so long ago well I don't remember
all I know is it makes me feel good now.

It's like I told you
Only the lonely can play
Only the lonely
Only the lonely can play

I laugh at the synchronicity.

God is in the details, however empty they may be.