Always going to be that wing span away

Today has not been too eventful, as most days these days.

I've been trying to think of my favourite place on earth, and it's a very difficult one!

In January I flew from Portland Maine to New York, I got off the plane and something just clicked and everything felt right. Although I had left behind a previous chapter of my life I felt quite content stood in the airport smoking area.

I think being on that plane. On my wing seat, with the table up, window in full view of New York city skyline. I think that is my favourite place.

Looking at something beautiful from somewhere restricted, I felt more free than ever.

I think in all my life I'll never find that 'favourite' place. The closest I got was to see what could have been. I find that with everywhere I've never really been, but seen.

What could have been if I had just taken my suitcase and gone? Who knows. One day I might find out.

The deceased..

Have you ever wondered why we put the deceased.. the gone off.. the out of date, corpses in the ground or scatter them on earth?

Perhaps it's so they can be at rest with the earth, the earth that gave them everything the needed in life.

In all honesty, being buried 6ft under soil and rocks, even when dead, would not be my idea of a picnic.

I think the way we like to keep all humans on earth is quite odd. It makes the ENTIRE world a grave yard. You cannot even walk out of your door without there being a body, a set of bones, underneath your feet, be it 10ft or 500. Imagine how many bodies are in the ground? How many more can we possibly fit in there!

But we have these 'attachment' things you see. We like to go to place, a bench, sometimes even the place where they died, to cry.. to weep. Which is entirely human. But in all honesty, that piece of ground you're praying to could be anyone.

Why not send these bodies off into space in capsules so they can orbit the earth, perhaps find other planets, other 'earth's.. Imagine that, we don't find other LIVING life until we're dead?

We can't see it, but we're circling it.

If only..

If I could tell what the my pity stricken face is saying right now, your glance would not be worthy. My Five thirty passes like a motionless train, yours in fact passes as a twelve thirty eloping divorce. Quick and not in the least bit subtle, thinking in ones own thoughts, imposing into possessions.

Perhaps you're at one with the crimson sofa, or the sterile walls which surround not the eyes, always the you's.

Hometowns shattered. You buildings there, you cross, you pressure stricken undignified children. Fall into this crack of these roots, this possessive mother. Claw your way from seam to seam, oh honey you've never looked so tragic.

This sickness plays again, like a classic you've heard a thousand times before ' Oh darling please believe me, I'll never do you no harm'. Today we
mix our 'o's and our 't's.. The 'l' always came too soon, the 't' not soon enough, oh, ay...

You are 'too late'.