Sunday Scribblings

This week's word is Vision:

As many of you know, I spend countless hours on the road each week training for various runs. Recently, I began taking pictures during these endless jaunts in order to distract myself from the pain. These are my "visions" from a few of my runs through different cities in the world.

Sunday Scribblings

This week's word was Soul Mate:

Their virgin ears were overcome with the gospelesque melody. The smaller of the two had heard about this sort of thing once from an unknown, and had spent his life is search of the same. As they sat in this den of rhythmic worship on the outskirts of nowhere, the sense of art that had once dominated their thinking was made comical by the display before them. The “music” they had wasted their youth on was nothing like this. It was angry, violent, sad, happy and simple, but completely meaningless. It was pleasurable noise to drown out the boredom that had come to be their daily existence. But this was something different, something that would change them from this point forward. Noise it was not, but poetry mixed with a hypnotic beat that made them understand what it meant to “feel the music”. In their moment of clarity, the first, the discoverer of the oasis, turned to his cohort and exclaimed proudly, “now this is soul mate!”

A bucket, a towel, and one angry tenant

What do you see in this picture? Does your mind jump to a particular afternoon spent cleaning your house/apartment? Maybe the aftermath of an insane party that ended with (insert the name of your most over indulgent friend here) throwing up his/her internal bodily fluids onto your floor. If I did not know better (having been the cameraman behind this horrendous piece of photography), my thoughts would catapult back to a hot summer California day from my childhood spent watching my mother clean our kitchen floor. (I have no clue why, but this seems to be my earliest memory (my mom listening to the Moody Blues and Journey, wearing a bandanna, overalls, and a smile)—funny, I love music, and count those bands as two of my all time favorites, but hate cleaning…if you ask my mother (or my wife), I chose to latch onto the wrong part of that memory, but I digress…) If you see those things, great, I hope you do, for I would like nothing more than for this picture to bring joy to your life, because what this poor photographer sees is blood… specifically, the blood of his landlord. For what I know is that this is a three gallon bucket filled with water that was sopped up from the floor of my apartment with a towel (this island does not believe in mops), and it is only the first of three. Seems the owner of this godforsaken apartment did not do as good of a job sealing the ceiling as he once led me to believe—cheap son of a bitch got me again, and I now have the documentary evidence to prove it.