...THE MYSTERY ISN'T ALWAYS IN THE MAKE/ING...

It is mostly in the unravelling...

This is apt.

This was written around 1999...

What does it mean...many things, now + back then.

I like to think that i am writing for the future, even though i am trying to understand the 'right now'...the idea of understanding myself more by writing in codes or subtleties, allows me to trigger things associated with  writing 'in the moment'.

I roam around at night...trying to unravel the noises in my head.

Trying to make something of it all...i write in the park, as cars drive by at a distance + dogs forage through bins.

Drunks occasionally stagger  past without really noticing me.

Bats fight in the dark branches of the trees.

I forget what time it is, it gets cold  + so i move along.

The dark takes longer to take effect...so i stay out longer.

I always imagined that i would end up with a scar of some sort on the inside of my left wrist.

I have drawn countless designs on it...

I went away in November.

I went for a skate + stacked it.

The doctors told me it was neither broken nor dislocated.

I went back to the hospital for 4 consecutive weeks of visits, x-rays + discussions that 'It's all looking fine' +  after thinking i was healing...comes the news that there was in fact 2 fractured bones.

1 was floating, which was fine, but the other needed a metal plate to fix it.

Fuck.

Now it looks like this...

16 days on after surgery + i am starting to get more fluid movement back.
It is weak, unstable + i lack the confidence to use it.

It is not an unhappy tale, as i was musing over it on this very evenings meandering through the park...this is representative of an ending.
Something i was wanting, i got it + now i am better for it.

The mystery isn't in the making.
we pick + choose the mysteries we want to surround ourselves with.
The beauty of the unknown.
The majesty of precision.

the timing of strength.

I am hand in hand with the dark/night...walking toward the sun.