spoiled.

. . . and now back to being a starving college kid.

anyone can play guitar.

sometimes i see other people's talents & grow envious.

i start wishing new languages came easily to me, or that i were a gnarly surfer, or i sang beautifully.

i think our talents should be the expression of our passions. a painter typically doesn't work because they want a finished piece of art. they paint because they find joy in the process. it's a form of expression; one of myriad ways we can create. when i remember this, i realize how vain it is to wish i were talented in ways i'm not. i simply express myself in some ways & not in others.

and what would be the interest in visiting an art gallery if we could seamlessly recreate everything we saw there? why would we listen to music if we could write & perform it perfectly ourselves? or why watch films if not to witness worlds unfold that we couldn't conjure on our own?

the world is so much richer for the talents of the people, past & present, who inhabit it. i'm reminded of it, when i fall asleep to radiohead, or i pass through a gorgeous garden, or i marvel at a poem i could never have written. there's a whole lot of things i'm not very good at, but i'm thankful there are others who are.

and i need to augment & share my own talents, not for myself, but to contribute to that collective library of the human race that i've taken so much from.

i think we're doing good as long as we're creating.

whatever your medium of choice, i'm convinced creation is the secret to youth. how can we ever feel old when new life is constantly sprouting from within us?

night lights.

streets of fishermen.

so long lakshmyya.

i understand
the necessity of a T.V.
when money swims low
and your kids can barely eat.

i get
getting away
as a means to survive.

but i wish you'd asked me for something
more easily justified,
or maybe only less conspicuous--

like a meal
or new shoes
or a check.

and i regret
showing up a liar,
empty-handed,
T.V.-less.

so goodbye lakshmyya;
blame me for your losses,
for your unfulfilled requests.
curse me for not packing your 7 grandkids
in my carry-on bag

and remember me begrudgingly
when you're missing the static hum
of a television set.

moneymakers.