rose pink pedals scattered along/empty streets becoming full againcoffee cups in trash cans/where it should be recycling binsfootsteps echoing the sidewalks/car mufflers making too much noisetakeout as a salvation/hiding behind windshields by the wavespicnics by the water/restaurants being a scarea heartbeat grows loud/with rightful unrest . . . Micah Mabey
There’s something to say about having some potted little plant children sitting around your space. Something to give your attention to while you don’t have the great Public to keep you entertained. Inside in the safety of your home, keeping you company on even these rainy days that cloud your vision, are those small green
I can’t explain it. I don’t know how it happened. But I’m fully disappointed in myself. Yesterday was May 27th, 2020. It was the first day in seventy days of quarantine that I didn’t upload a blog post. The only other day that I haven’t written one was all the way back at the beginning,
I won’t use this platform to complain about the sun’s heat. Her beautiful rays of light shine with such beauty that we can hardly comprehend it. Though, I wouldn’t mind a large plot of shade during the mid-afternoon illumination that is beginning to happen every day. Noon to four right now. Those are the Hot
Nice. . . . (I think I earned this. You’re allowed to disagree. You would be wrong though.) Micah Mabey
It’s been maybe the most exciting weekend since the start of the self-isolating project that most of us have been working on. It was about time I got off the couch and further than the woods surrounding the house. . Saturday I got to spend the morning and afternoon volunteering downtown at the Sarah Hardy
There are a few things that I miss more than others. Dancing to songs that I didn’t know, in crowded side street concert venues, while everyone around was just half dressed humming along and spilling beer. Watching credits roll as the lights go up in the theatre that had been dark for the last two
What do you think that I should write about today, the sun asked to the stars, And the stars said back, just me, I’m here, and there’s no point to worry more. The sun said – no, for you’re far too familiar, we talk all day and night and there’s nothing new to you. The
Andrew Garfield has a monologue about an hour and forty minutes into Aaron Sorkin’s The Social Network, from 2010. Where he spits in the face of Jesse Eisenberg and the entirety of his version of Mark Zuckerberg’s Facebook infrastructure that’s been build while his character Eduardo is away in New York City. If you’ve seen
I think that I earned myself a break today. But I’d hate to miss a day. So there are still words. Though not so many. . . . Micah Mabey
There’s a cemetery on 8th Street. Most, if not all, were names that I didn’t know; outside of one that I recalled from a statue in town, as is usually the case with a cemetery. There wasn’t much for us to do other than walk and talk. Maybe stop and stare at a gravestone every
My brother Noah’s old hammock is perfectly split between a green and a near purple-blue. It’s what I’ve been using to keep me suspended in the air since the spring-weather hit. Since my orange and black one got lost in the summer of 2018 and I’ve gone hammock-less since then, it’s nice to have something
