Sheets of Vision

I washed my sheets today.

I wash my sheets on occasion, when I am alerted to the remnants of the human body and the foulness they create. This time, I chose not to wash them because I saw them alive. My decision was a conscious procrastination, and I left the sheets to cling to the solemn mattress longer than ever, because I felt they belonged there even more than I. They caressed my bed more gently than usual, and hugged the frame of my mattress like they were holding on for one night of bliss. Last week, I would not bear prying them from their counterpart. The sheets have a mind, and a body, of their own. They see when two lovers lie next to each other. They are nearer to their exclamations of joy, or cries of defeat, than even God. They hear all the conversations that pass between them - the sweet murmurs of their souls. My sheets were not dirty this week. Nay, they were rife with the longing of those tender after hours caresses and pliant embraces.

I peeled the elastic bands back from their post between the mattress and the box springs. They dug in, however, and would not release their steadfast hold without a tug. They wanted ever so much to remain a witness to the palliations of language between two rift souls. They wanted to believe they could embrace the indentured spirits that were lost in the night, together. As I peeled the sheets from their soft frame - their foundation - they released the artifacts of human mortality and physicality into the night. They shed the hairs of accumulated time, and the scents of powerless yearning. I rolled the sheets into a shapeless heap, and then peeled away the slips that separate the dreams of human bliss and terror from the cold, uncaring pillows underneath.

The procession of renewal was eerily calm. The sheets did not say a word. They did not look back. They dropped, exhaustedly into the washer basin, and drowned in the water and detergent with terrorred submission.

They no longer saw.

Downtown Victoria, TX

Some beautiful buildings here. This is downtown Victoria, TX. A view of the O'connor-Proctor building - 211 Main St.

Fossati's Delicatessen.

View down Main St.

Here, Tonight

Here, tonight, my legs glide swiftly and gracefully over the groomed pavement. My head, arched back to look upward toward through the hatch of trees, like a telescope through its dome, peering endlessly beyond the recognizable layer of seeing. The ballooning sky, radiant with stars so brilliant as to imitate the promenade of fireflies against the densely wooded forest, blankets my scope of vision with sights so novel. Here, at home, I rest my soul. The symphony of serenity wells deep within my being, and premonitions of peaceful posterity palliate the universe. An owl glides quickly through the air, honing in on a restful perch on which to occupy. It is here, now, tonight, that I understand the inexplicable changes that bathe my soul. Tonight, here, I am more than man. I am invincible, indestructible, exonerated and proven. Here, tonight, I am you, and you - you are me.

Vault: Daily Texan Wild Art - Artist

Fuller Pool

Tigers Game: A 'Before' and 'After'

Early B+W

Ann Arbor Hash Bash 2012

Forest Ave.

Outtakes

Cincy in the Afternoon

Downtown College Town

Around Campus

Back to the Buses

Nighttime

A lamp reflection emits a pale glow from my window. At night, the glass does not act in a normal transparent routine. I do not see the world I wish was awake outside. Instead, the window mirrors my light, and signifies my sole proprietorship of the night.

The window's chilly surface pierces my skin with a shivering force when I close the shutters. Colder than my heart when it is empty, colder than my head which throbs with salient memories of childhood fondness. And just think, tomorrow I will stare at the same black pit of glare, save it will resemble a street of soupy concrete, ready for my hand prints and stick-scrawled John Hancock.

-written 3/11/11

Circus