Post Pacific Mortem
I still feel the ocean in me. When I close my eyes I see the waves coming towards me, I feel them rise and fall in my chest. The itch of anticipation never satisfied in imagination. Left wanting again.
I feel good, hopeful. I think that spring will resolve me. But fancy this. Maybe there’s nothing to be fixed, in fact nothing wrong with me. What if I went even further to say there is something right with me?
Although a more comforting conclusion, it’s embedded with the same sick streak of self-obsession. The one I try to avoid yet consistently fail to. I pray for realization yet move no finger towards it. The one truth I know finds its way back to me, a reminder, I can’t have anything good unless I create it myself. My inertia a punishment. My fear a prison.
Sometimes life feels young and fresh and myself at the apex of all decisions, my throat burns and I know it will all be okay. Sometimes I don’t want to take part in it at all. But I find myself there still. Confronted by choice, paralyzed by inaction, my desire to change challenged by my inclination towards habit.
Being with life. Not disengaged. Not cool to it. I bite my tongue and it takes me back to a second before. The first feeling immediately one of regret. Perhaps sometimes I would like to change things in the past. I don’t want to admit that, so I’ve resigned to considering myself a fatalist. I had to do it, all of it, don’t question it, let’s leave it back there, perfectly inevitable in memory and truth. There are no lessons to learn.
I got my palm read by a psychic in La Jolla but upon entering I noticed a single Wheat Thin on the floor, in front of her TV on the rug, and I couldn’t take any of it seriously. I sat down across from her feeling emboldened by skepticism. She told me I would find success and ultimately a career in business and my suspicions were validated. I would never go into business.
A recent fear – there is no rule that things have to turn out okay, despite what I thought, and what I tell myself. Is my seemingly inherent belief that things must turn out alright a result of Christian influence? I don’t even think of heaven when I think everything has to turn out alright, it’s satisfaction in the material world, but maybe subconsciously that’s what I mean when I believe everything must “work out”. Or is it a deeper knowledge? Will it all work out? I guess it does or it doesn’t, and there’s not much help in worrying over it.
Anyways, I’m planning on being more dedicated to my life.


“I’m planning on being more dedicated to my life.” I love the sound of that.
noooo i want my palm read but this has made me not want to