Hatching Halcyon Hopes
Weathering ourselves well begins with self-love. Detonating emotional states being a contemporary (/historic) fad, the climate is begging for optimistic bravery. If the world’s gonna fling hell in a hypocritical handbasket all around us, the least we can do is match that outrage with a fierce rallying of outrageous favorable intensity. So what that the eviction notice timed with the unemployment disqualification which landed on the dead plants crisping like a freeze-dried kale hippie snack. Your mom’s cousin’s son has a pretty dope pool scene that screams for attention, not to mention being your skills as an anti-pigeon operator to protect the turf. We not only need, we deserve better ~ the tip toppity, prideful superiority dancing that’s Happy Feet on its mega highest. Hitching ourselves to hatching Halcyon hopes is how we navigate the negative spaces we keep having to wade through.
The only difference between a rut and a grave… is their dimensions. ~Ellen Glasgow
You might as well suck up your soul into superstar formation. Dressing up or down any depressive motives to movements is merely a cover-up that doesn’t stir the needle from the haystack of despair. Conveniently sizing up one’s situation is where we want the temperature gage to hover away from the ankle-biter level rattlesnakes slither-hissing their venom our way. Hoisting the entirety of your haunches into a happier habit mode is possible. This is akin to that commitment you’ve been hounding your concrete (or mysteriously elusive) beloved about for ages. In order to receive the reality, we must check in with our excuses for keeping every poor behavior functioning along the lines of Johnny Depp’s Mortedcai madness. Predicting a newly appealing Samba shift is clearing our radar of the mixed messages. Forecasting sympathetically is about lodging advantageous obsessions within oneself.
Such progress is to enjoy tumbling like the tumbleweed and not careening into doomsday feelings of vomiting from too much disturbance. When “It’s so sunny outside that all you can see is the bullshit” I think this is life telling you to thermal nuclear meltdown all that insanity into a merry-go-round of sunshiney intimately-fortunate conformist aid. The globe fatefully leans its overcast flanked with gloomy effects. I say that’s a translation for abundant rounds of Toblerone-infused milkshakes (shared with a lack of English on purpose for your utmost pleasure). Prefer your belief with the promise of alcohol? Try these delicious Malibu Rum running cookies over drowning your sorrows in too many bottles of the stuff straight up (or should I note down, as that would put you terribly horizontal sans implying the beautiful boffing effect). The key is getting yourself animated enough you’re hats off with creating comforts.
In these troubled times, I still can see
We can use the stars, to guide the way ~David Byrne and Brian Eno, One Fine Day
If you’re missing the point of taxing your terms with so much keen attention, allow me to display this more neatly. We seize our fortunes by viewing things as fortunate. That’s it, Sherlock. However, it is on you. You have to put in the effort to get a percentage of the ball rolling. Maybe you hail all kinds of flattery upon chocolate. Then you’re given a choice among that lowly butter croissant and a perfect pain au chocolate dripping dark gooey goodness from its fluffy pastry buttocks. By no means in Hades could you be in your right mind accepting anything besides the latter to admit your spirits a continuous rise. You’re a chocoholic! You’re as shiny as God’s glorious halo whenever your sweet tooth is given some permission to play. Honor that. Of course, don’t overdo it. None of this represents the ignorance of mistaking the greatest of things with the balance of pragmatic life equilibrium.
A dear friend and I were recently discussing our appetite for stoke when hanging with gangsters. In our current era largely devoid of tranquility, it’s the conversations about otherness that are capturing my heartstrings. I’ve forever felt I was more human when in the presence of people unlike myself. It’s the same stationing as sitting on the ground beneath more stars in a night sky than your lifetime has for you to count. Those lilliputian instances wherein one’s meant to observe their wee, yet comparatively connected, place in the badass cosmic whole. We’ve all got the exact price to pay ~ alive or dead. It’s not much else you to me. So, the sooner we stop treating anyone else differently than everyone else the closer we come to seeing that our sh*t stinks just the same and sh*t has a positive edge that actually benefits growth toward the kaleidoscopic side of living. Therefore, let’s deposit golden hours every hour of our days.
May your climbs be unruffled since you know you can color the darkness with light.
