smoke & mirrors

Mobile post sent by thievedrelic using Utterz. Replies.

that's where the magic happens~ and additionally, it was taken at a tea shop that can (finally) hold a candle to trident. so it's got that going for it. which is nice.

why do the leaves change colors so dramatically? from the top down? is it a lack of water, and the closest to the roots retain their verdure longer? is it the sun, crackling and crisping the canopy first, then working its way downward? whatever the case, its clear that they are drained, detached, then spun to the ground to be trodden upon and crumbled.

"resolution is the aftermath of that which could not be defined
hanging on a cliff with no options but to die, rewind or recline...
resolution is the fire in the sky left by a phoenix rising.
a caged bird lost, but still free,
flying over a treacherous sea with no effort; gliding.
resolution is the thought you cannot contain
when city lights turn to magnificent heights
and release has no echo of pain.
resolution hinges on a breath, that passes as quickly as an untangled life."
~ souls of mischief - "phoenix rising"

is matches supposed to pick some fruit from the leaves? is it some large-scale cyclical metaphor for why death is beautiful? it's not too difficult to shake the sadness from autumn, because you know somehow that spring is still curling its way around the globe; that it inevitably returns. it's difficult to be so complacent about death in general...or perhaps it is the generality that is easier to swallow, and the specific instance that is venomous. but then, maybe it isn't a metaphor at all. m supposes that assumes a lot more details about existence than he should be granting most of his readers' opinions.
let's set the whole leaf thing aside, because m isn't really certain where he was going with that.

this weekend was one of the most amazing sets of days that matches has ever experienced. to save space and patience, the chronological sequence of events will be omitted. a good primer (the best, usually) would just be the facts, the bones of the structure. monday prior, reilly called up matches and invited him to a beach house in pacific city. of the seven cats going to the house, matches knew two quite well, one marginally well, and three not even by reputation until said phone call. necessary preparations were made, and matches and chris were scooped up en route from seattle to the beach. the next day, three more people whose existence matches was oblivious to before the weekend showed up. that's quite a count by any metrics.
what mattress wants to sieve out from the entire experience, though, is why it was any more spectacular (and it was) than the average day in the life? he wants to trace and stare at the surface of this nautilus until some pattern emerges which prescribes the elements of an adventure.

one. the combination of the company. this mix creates a very interesting space for the mind to squeeze into...seven unknowns and a handful of true friends is a motley crew any way you look at it. on the one hand, you have the few people with whom you have a wealth of experiences...shared moments, inside jokes, automatic comfort zones. these people bring out sides of you that you know well, or dig up lost fragments that had slipped into subconsciousness and can be speculated upon with new revolutions. you have parts of these people composing you, and they have similar grains from your mind arching through their existence. on the other hand, you have the immutable clashes of identity with the new people...the edging and blending of worlds, the probing and receptive exchange of word and thought. there is something special about meeting new people, some playfulness and freedom that lets us soar above ourselves and redefine however we choose the lines of our personalities. there is some enrichment that people feel from having experienced the conscious presence of one another. it's like a long-rusted attic window finally thrown open...the dust is stirred, carried away; a new life is breathed into the room. matches thinks that perhaps this feeling is what most authors strive for...the hello, nice to meet you; the dusting off of the book cover and the introduction to a mind long gone, but still somehow present and persuasive.
the only problem with meeting new people whilst in the company of old friends, is that the latter will call you out for using old jokes and staple tendencies on these newcomers who have yet to associate you with such seemingly-spontaneous cleverness : )

two. all this is bound together like a cord of firewood by the cabin, the weekend away from it all. for some reason we are unable to let the world and our humanity be binding factors every day of our lives...we snub coworkers and create a polished persona separate and guarded. perhaps there are just too many people to allow a universal acknowledgment....we don't have the time for everyone on a single bus, let alone an entire city, nation, or planet. but somehow shared events have the power to wrap us closely about one another; to let us drop our defenses. if you have an enemy, ask them to the circus~

three. the dynamic landscape; the raw power and fundamental awe of experience. anyone who has ever been to an ocean can tell you about the waves' ability to amplify in magnitude your thoughts, and more importantly, the division between your natural self and your constructed. now add two pinches of heavy oregon fog, throttling this beach into a full-blown dreamscape. allow matches to recount to you the sand at a specific bar of the beach in pitch-black night, out of which cascaded luminous sparkles when you stomped. he had two engineers in his company, which should by all rights add up to at least one whole physicist, and neither of them could offer a satisfactory explanation for this phenomenon. all were equally amazed and befuddled. allow matches to tell you how he finally had the beach bonfire that he has been thirsting for since the dawn of time, and that it was everything he hoped it would be.
add he and justin winning five straight games of beiruit in a row, which was precisely the number of games played. please, step to the reigning champions~



exhaustion sets in. but perhaps, perhaps, there will be more to recount, like all great things, as it is remembered.