“And… what if I told you that the expression “sleep is the cousin of death” is not merely an expression?” Prof. Waltz exclaimed, inquisitively, as he struck the board with a black sharpie.

Sinisterly, Sal sank into his seat, squirming, he said, “Uh, I mean — yeah, it’s all black and stuff, but… I mean, I wake up every day, right?”

Prof. Waltz meandered, pondering the response, then poignantly poised in opposition, declaring, “To the body, it may not be. However, to the mind, when your eyes close and the day is done, when your body settles and slips into the unconscious, what is the difference, for those 8 hours, between sleep and death?”

Sal, perplexed, scrambled, but sure of himself said: “Well, we’re still breathing? We’re dreaming? Um, I don’t know man, I guess I’ve never died…”

“Oh, but you have —” creepily, Prof. Waltz limped out of the room throwing a handkerchief in the air, “and you will again,” he said, smiling.

civilians shuffle silently through supercenters

money, money, money, in and out, but maybe

maybe money isn’t the only monetary thing;

time, with each tick, deliberates, dictates truth

each second shuffled, each second spent

minutes mending, mentally meditating, maybe

more monetized than a mere fifty dollar bill

shhh! silence – keep shuffling the supercenter

too much thought tends to tantalize, overturning

traditional teachings of what’s truly important

left impotent when without – homeless, begging

“time is money!” without a whimper. head down

keep shuffling, keep spending, keep the silence

stifle the seconds then the minutes then the hours… for cents; money, money, money! for hundred dollar bills

but maybe, just maybe

headstrong, healing, healthily slowing the second

with breath, in-and-out, manipulating, to manifest

the seconds into minutes… into hours






Wishes wistfully swaying, singing

Like children, cheering, cacophony

Like elders looking down on us, enticing

Waiting for when we least expect anything

Then lurching from the darkness to restore:

Like a check in the mail, a lost friend checking in

Or anything good that happens time and time again

A positive swirl in the (sometimes) otherwise bleak world

A fresh perspective, an excitability for life

A vacation, a good dream

Happiness, blatantly

the words can come mentally, easily, fleetingly – floating, waiting, processing, conjuring, to be possessed, when suddenly
pen to paper, rigged, wretched mind betrays slowing, thoughts halt, hammering, stammering, sto—
some thoughts pop up instead – something about the political landscape, some introversive insecurity, words in a line that don’t make coherent sense, deadened, blackened — ugh


I’m so surrounded by life… and just often feel so dead inside. The city thrives, my mind wanders, days feel too short to be worthwhile, hours seem like seconds, my room is a dump, and I feel like a swamp creature. This is depression running rampant – a distortion mechanism and burden of the brain bestowed upon humans for the blessing of consciousness. Since we can rationalize, we sometimes rationalize ourselves into dark, small spaces. Remember (anyone who needs this) – there’s a whole world out there.