Spirituality

Somehow, I really like bus rides. I know some people who will never or has never set a foot on a bus but well, who cares about them, all I care is that I really like bus rides.

The pitiable kind of person laughs when he doesn’t understand the joke. The worse person will tell a joke that he doesn’t comprehend and laugh.

Are we all screaming infidelities against the fairies of our youth?  Our indiscretions laid bare to the unblinking darkness; silence crashing around our laughters. Words are rubbish.  Only the things unspoken takes flight. Back from the Arizona deserts and the Quebec roads and I feel fine.  Fine to shed off

Spent the better part of Friday night at Pier 45, head rested on my helmet on the manicured lawn, staring at the dusk turned to night, as the moon punctured the sky

What if our lives are lived only once?  What happens if we never return to the moment of first discoveries – will our actions have meaning if it falls to the slumber or forgetting?

There is something sad, forlorn and mournful about Jesus, hanging on his tree, stretched muscles and sinews, ribs exposed and staring at the ivy covered brownstone next to graffitied factories under a gray clouded Brooklyn night, with no one to talk to. It seemed to me an error in reasoning