*Footnote: #101

random thoughts: we all have them, every second of everyday, so it’s no surprise when they pop up from time to time in the least and even a lot of times, expected places, like, hey, I was just thinking that, that’s my idea, or a kind of, sort of, variation of what I was thinking when doing X and Y throughout the day.

We’re very much alike even though it can feel like we’re so very different, but different in a good kind of way, a constructive way, a way that universalizes our emotions and expectations of ourselves and others around us.

I can almost guarantee you have more in common with the guy bagging your groceries, or pouring your latte than you do with fellow employees, or even some friends for that matter.

So, I’d like to propose that these rand0m th0ughts be an open platform to share, discuss, question, debate, relate, or even just to vent, with purpose of course, how full of crap menial thoughts throughout the day really are – perhaps they’re not?

Let’s decide together.

Conversation is key, and I look forward to hearing back from you readers, writers, and all around daily thinkers of rand0m th0ught.

rand0m th0ught #101

our most lost days

can be our most found,

it all just depends

what’s lost,

it all just depends

who’s in the bin

give em hell

You are not great

You are not special

You’re another puzzle piece,

a letter of scrabble.

But spell great without the G,

or special when missing a C,

place yourself wherever you fit

it’s for them you’ve got to be

they’ll take credit either way, so

if and when you tell

listen son, be a good girl now, when you’re all worn out

it’s best to give em hell.

Untitled for,

all

that

time

effort

energy

left

to

H

A

N

G

hawks, overhead

Little squirrels

selectively seeking

acorns, oak trees

perfection, little hunters

in the daylight, scrounging

to find, hold, and bury

any nourishment

granted, before those hawks

circling overhead

make their selection.

between the lines

If nothing else sticks

take solace in that,

life happens—and—you die,

between the lines

there’s simply time.

For what?

Bah! You tell me!

Besides,

I’ve got to get my watch fixed.

It came scarlet red

It happened one night

then again,

and another.

It spread like a plague,

unbiased wildfire.

It couldn’t be contained

or shocked from the brain

It came scarlet red, burnt bright

in a pyre, it’s beauty, arcane

giving hope to the choir.

when Whitman sings

I often hide the cover of the book

I’m reading,

commuting on the subway

or relaxing over coffee,

like anyone would care

either way, because yeah!

What if they did? They don’t.

But what if? And how does one explain

his book of choice, when more than not

the books I read give me no choice! Aha!

They’d label me pretentious, surely they should

but what if they didn’t?

Would I really have time for a friend,

when Whitman sings and celebrates self

Oh! You better believe I butt in.

Shh…

knowledge

can be the most powerful form

of despair

Shh…

(said the ventriloquist)

dummies don’t make a sound

circus-pocus

Not one trouper builds a circus alone.

(I could go into detail about the intricacies

of setting up and breaking down a circus

but now is not the time or place for that.)

When a clown throws a pie

he doesn’t expect the trapeze artist to clean it up,

but she helps out anyway, knowing

that he believed in her, marveled at each step

while she danced on air, inhaling her courage from below.