TransPortable Life

Playing musical chairs with the here and now

I find myself here sometimes, again and again..
Watching life in its natural habitat
Swirling, making fleeting connections between strangers;
Happening, transpiring, unaware.
I find myself here sometimes again and again..
Porting stories between the imagination and reality
That guy Sees a pretty girl out of the corner of his eye, he tries to fight but he can't help it, he looks back... Some things are too beautiful to be trusted to periphery alone.
And so he drinks in the vision of her, no greed, no avarice; just that appreciation, that contact-high that comes from being in the presence of beauty.
Or at least it looks that way,

That lady over there, ordering sandwiches at the mini-food truck, kids milling about her like crazed otters, marvelling at the LEDs, as they flicker on in the wasting light 
Dotting the food truck canopy like a thousand contemporary Starlights, just close enough to touch...
That lady standing over there doesn’t see it, she’s too busy looking out for her order..
Or maybe she’s thinking about how tired she is
Maybe she’s living through a waking dream starring that half-eaten tub of Vanilla Choco-chip channelling it’s inner Siberia in her freezer back at home...
Maybe she’s waiting on the few hours till she can tuck those kids in at night, 
For the guilty pleasure that she can’t believe still comes with the blessed silence of that temporary solitude... Those moments when she can afford to be that little girl she once was...; cares so much fewer in the world
She’s fighting a million battles with imagination in her mind
A million pointless battles
She knows which side she’ll choose everytime 
"But it doesn’t hurt to dream" she thinks
And so she does dream, just a little longer under the semiconductor starlight

The traffic sounds like a million angry bees calming down, far off in the distance...
So many intersections; dreams; routine; purpose; randomness. 
The million angry bees, like the perfect soundtrack; driving me deeper into thoughtscape,birthing new horizons from swirling mists.
Before I know it, the darkness is there, invading my space. Time does fly when you’re dreaming in color doesn’t it?

It’s just now hit me..
How easy it is to make life a spectator sport.
To sit back and watch the lives others live, imagine their stories and think that means you’re living them too for you..
Stories are cool 
You can go along on a Journey, experience the fictional highs and lows
And most times you can leave when you’re tired of the words on the page...
You’ve got no skin in the game.
 I think the allure of a good tale lies in its ability to take you on a journey through portable life and let your imagination run free, design the landscape in which the story occurs.
But in our attempt to project our minds beyond our physical limitations, it’s so easy to miss what’s happening right in front of you...
To spectate the day away...
Daydream so to speak. Dreams are great, but life can’t be lived by proxy....; at least not effectively I think...
So maybe I can find a way to exist in the balance 
Be present and transported in equal measure.
I don’t know how though;

I’m not sure how to exist in the balance, but I guess, just like always;

I can use my imagination.

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