Mundane. Who even has the time to define their uninterest? The Mundane. If you ever want to take a genuine look at the heart of man, take interest to draw parallels between time and the definition of language. Mundanus, “to belong to the world”, Latin that was later relocated into the French, mondain, which is described as being of this world, but also pure. Perhaps erroneously understood as generously of this world. All of this to point to today, lacking interest. Somehow. Somehow, at some point in time, someone made the observation that when something is uninteresting to them, personally, it should be categorized and tucked away into a global state of nonexistence.

I find that the mundane, though misconstrued in definition, has remained authentic according to original intention: unadulterated. I can’t help but pay respect to something that has existed and breathed but has also been overlooked into dark corners so that when I experience it, when I explore the thin lines on the underside of my desk that may have been felt just now for the very first time, when I see the thick lines of trees living as an untouched wall between highways, trees that live entire seasons of lives, I don’t think to dismiss them. I don’t assume to have so much extra ordinary that I do not have the effort to consider the less than. What a terrible way to live and die.

So take time. I wish I could find a better way to transpose feelings other than shitty postscript definitions with a pinch of higher arching philosophical exploration innuendos but my life is a shitty postscript definition so it is only as expected. I implore you to take time to consider or atleast acknowledge the existence of things that take the time to consider and acknowledge themselves as existing.