Not a Journey

And not a poem.

I’m jumping off here.
I’m not on a journey to improve myself every day.
I’m not aiming for the unattainable ever-better, of self-development’s neat infinity.
I’m a warped impressionist mess

doing the best I can each day
in each moment
I manage to catch myself
laughing: me

as an infant
innocently tasting the poisons
because everything in the world
is so damned inviting.


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  1. There are some who say the journey is arrived the moment we surrender that turbulent trek. This moment here and now has always been the answer to thirst just as it is, as we are. What beauty would be when we allow.

  2. I recently read an old article from the New Yorker, Improving Ourselves to Death. Let’s not. ❤️