Time.

Is it the same today, yesterday, and tomorrow?  Do we all experience it symmetrically or somehow the same way?  Is it anything more than a complex social construct?

Ask the pioneer who ventured into the unknown how his time passed.  The rugged, wrinkled man that went searching for adventure and returned to restlessness when the trail ran dry.  Time quickens to a pace unspeakable when the journey is fresh.  Once his heels have become buried in the ground complacency slips its mask on.  Adventure doesn't ever last.  Time crawls when joy dissipates or interior smiles evaporate.

The grandmother waiting in the hospital lounge.  No one can disturb her except the slightest movement or touch.  Maybe there's a chance her grandson will make it.  Maybe he'll walk.  And what about her daughter?  How will she fare? Time loses track of itself.  Time gets stuck between floors in the elevator.  It pulls out its playing cards and teaches Joan and Jill to play crazy eights.  No sign of maintenance coming and there is no need.

Field of Vision

I cannot look behind me.  That's just one reason why I need another.  I cannot see through the blinds.  Looking backward there will always be something behind me.  I think the late twenties (and into the thirties) is a spectrum vacillating between isolation and intimacy, community and loneliness.  It's rain clouds outlined in silver permanent marker.

And in this day this age range is an extended adolescence.  Where have we gone wrong?  What needs repairing?  How do we make adjustments if we do not know where the leak is?  Go to the root but when you get there it's cold, dark, and empty save for your own reflection in the shallow cesspool.

Alone and lonely are not always good friends.  A lonely neighbor can be surrounded by cardboard cutouts while alone is a location.

Maybe this is just my field of vision.  My perspective.  My lens.  My point of view.

Basta.