There was this guy.
No, he wasn’t my guy.
He was my guy’s guy. His mentor.
And this mentor’s guy wasn’t really my guy anyway. Really.
I mean, you’re young or something. Vacantly stare/work at a ‘coffee shop’ on the corner. You feel good. For the first time in your entire existence. Just to vacantly stare. The buzzing in your head just a memory. It’s okay just to be.
But EXPLOSION and possibility of impossibilty.
You know, with the fact that you’re okay enough just to be.
YOU can be with someone. Because you now are good enough.
There’s a pang in your stomach, maybe. But the pang = the vacant stare = the okay. No buzzing. The ‘pang’ transformed…
months… years, ago into ‘yay’ somehow. But it’s never really an absolute ‘yay’ somehow. Because a ‘pang’ is a Taiko drum. The semi-stiff marshmallow head on the long stick [like smores without the campfire and the burning, melting and sugar] strikes the stomach deliberately and richly.
But it doesn’t matter. Or you can care less.
If there is a difference, or if you would be able to discern.
Still-ness.
Okay.
Okay to be around others… to be with others.
Human.
None of this has anything to do with VESTIBULAR things of course. I’m working up to it. It will ultimately have to do with my guy’s guy.
