— From @dorwarr

“Somewhere Between Consciousness & Sleep”

“when you fall asleep in transit 
 you rarely wake up much closer 
 to where you want to be 
 and you’ve missed the song 
 you were waiting to hear 
 coming up after the ad for a 
 funeral home and the traffic and weather 
 in a town you’ll never live in 
 
 or even see now that you’ve passed it 
 in a dream you don’t recall 
 
 and you know there is a word 
 for those seconds between 
 consciousness and sleep where you 
 have arrived at your destination 
 accomplished your tasks and 
 concurrently settled into a 
 big old house that needs some work 
 next to the funeral home 
 with some endlessly interesting and 
 kind person you love unflinchingly 
 
 and traffic is moving well 
 weather is fair 
 
 you think that word might be “liminal” 
 but you are not certain so you don’t 
 mention it to the driver who’s name 
 you cannot remember 
 
 though you likely know him 
 as well as you know anyone 
 
 and you are so weary 
 with loitering between here 
 and there then and then 
 beauty and function you wish 
 you were a three hole punch 
 sleek shiny black and a 
 mysteriously pleasant weight 
 assisting children with their 
 school presentations while 
 slowly stockpiling confetti 
 for no particular occasion 
 
 just some average day 
 suddenly it is needed”

— Liminal Highway, John K. Samson

Wake up. Make coffee. Get dressed. Go to school. Go home. Get undressed. Make dinner. Go to bed. Wake up. Make coffee. Get dressed. Go to school. Go home. Get undressed. Make dinner. Go to bed. Wake up. Make coffee. Get dressed. Go to school. Go home. Get undressed. Make dinner. Go to…

T.S. Eliot once described my life so accurately. My days and all my ways have been measured out by coffee spoons and afternoon teas. Some days it feels as if I’ve caught myself in the middle of a dream, not sure how I got there, not sure how to get out; caught in a hamster wheel of could-be goals and plan B options. John K. Samson’s “Liminal Highway” is a journey upon where your feet waveringly embark, only to find that the destination is the place where you started — that you were travelling on the same dotted line, over and over again exhausted by mundanity and repetition. Constantly being everywhere and nowhere, semi-existing in the spaces between bus stop and bus stop. Movement without progress. Action without purpose. Wanting to be anywhere but here.

This is what we are as city people. We are post-modernist urban dwellers aimlessly roaming, from streets to alley ways, bars to cafes. Living without a God. We set goals and categorize them under short-term, mid-term, long-term titles. We get an education to get a job. We get a job to get money. We get money to save for retirement. We save for retirement so that we can die a happy, comfortable death. Let’s face it, we are human. We are mortal. We are full of faults and blunders, revisions and indecisions. We are weak. But when we feel the weakest is when we are the strongest. When we are weak, we look outside of ourselves to be saved. We stare into each others’ eyes only to see our own needy souls reflected back at us; helpless, in search of salvation from our deepest wrongs and most secret sins. We are human, and this is the beauty of humanity. Our ability to be naked and fully vulnerable, and still accept each other as we are. We are graced with battle scars and clothed in battle paint. But for a couple of moments, the true sincerity of empathy parses the disguise and we see truth. We are human. We are humanity. We are walking negatives. And if I’m not mathematically mistaken, putting two negatives together makes a positive. One massive, united, marching, positive.

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