Roman Numerals: On Aging and the Progression of Time


Sometimes when you think of love you think of the receiving ends.
And sometimes when you dream of love you blink and catch a pixie with your mouth.
Swallow love and have a rose bloom from out the throat…

…When drinking water you’ll feel it grow, and cry with every thorn that punctures through.

And when a growth spurt hits you die a little, just to let the blossoms burst out.


People run inside the dark, and howl when the light strikes them. I find this opposing, for they spend their lives seeking out the light. I think, if I were a werewolf, a vampire, a creature of the night, that I would spend my life living beneath the surface of the world. But who’s to say really what I would do, I certainly scream at candle flames as much as I do shadows.

I like to think that when I enter the woods before the dawn, that there truly are eyes following my movements, tongues tasting my footprints, and Watchers that survey my habits with every visit that I make. I had this dream once, that I woke up dead in the dirt and thousands of mighty paws started pounding at the earth, digging me up. I feel there is an animal in every corner of my room when the sun descends and the moon ascends. I suppose there are as many wonders above the ground as there are beneath.


Sometimes when you think of rain you think of the receiving ends.
And sometimes when you dream of rain, it rains.
And then you dream of it stopping, and it doesn’t stop.

Once I had this old, tawny trench-coat, that was given to me at a rummage sale.
I liked it well enough.


I guess somebody left this bag underneath this bed for me to find. And I guess somebody didn’t lock these doors just in case I might just happen to walk by. So, with those thoughts in mind, I grabbed the bag from underneath the bed and opened it. Inside I found a stag skull and some old letters. I read the letters, and put them back. But the stag skull I kept for personal reasons. Placing the bag back where it had surely been left for me, I went out into the hall and opened all the doors, one by one. Not in order. Behind one I discovered an old spice-rack, that was full of odd perfume bottles with butterflies trapped within them. I got angry, this fury blaring up within me, and I began ripping the bottles off the racks and sending them breaking onto the floor. I lifted the rack above my head, and broke it into many pieces against the wall. It was then I noticed the mirror in the back. I took the stag skull, and placed it on my head, using it as a mask. When looking in the mirror, I thought, I guess this really was meant for me.


I enjoyed this conversation I had with a peculiar foreigner once. He had a rucksack and a knitted poncho, and a beard that indeed poncho-ed his face. He asked where he was, and I told him the street. He laughed and went on to ask what part of the country. I gave him a quirky look, my lip-ends curling in curiosity, and told him the Northland, and specified with Wisconsin. He pointed to my wrist and asked me for the time, and I pulled out my iPhone. His eyes lit up and immediately he pointed with his finger and declared he knew what that was; the new technology, the future-aged gizmo, and wow! he was seeing these everywhere. I asked where he was from, and he responded with the east. I asked him from where out east, and he smiled and said he couldn’t say, that it had been too long. I asked how old he was, and where he was born, and he laughed and said I sure did ask a lot of questions. I apologized, and he laughed again and said, “You should be a traveler.” and then gave a salute and walked away. I might be imagining, but I think I’ve seen him around.


Sometimes when you think about things you don’t actually think about them.

You dream about them. And then you run off like a shot, and realized somewhere along the way, you stumbled along the truth. And you go, Wow! Wasn’t that something!

Sometimes when you think about things you don’t actually think at all.
And you just start laughing. And sometimes you wonder why you do that.


If I never said a word I would still be saying a million things with every word that became never said.

Have you every watched the way a professor tilts his head, or how a woman lowers her chin and a man’s brows are instinctively raised? Can’t you smell when a change is coming, or smell it on those who fight against those changing tides…every felt a breath get taken away from across the room?

If I never did anything but talk I would never really being saying anything, now would I?


Sometimes when you think about death, it thinks about you too.
And sometimes when you cheat death, it cheats you as well.
Stake your self-righteous will into the ground and feel the winds rise to meet it.

I wish I had a scorpion to keep in my pocket…

…When the tail thrashes I’d know the continents were about to split once more.


You creep closer to that nebulous question, that question you know you’re suppose to ask but you don’t really know what it is. It’s on the tip of your fingers, right before your walking toes, and sitting deep in the back of your throat, wickedly grinning and taunting you with mastery. I don’t think we all are suppose to ask the same question; to each his own. When I think about what another person’s question, creature must look like, I tear down the walls in rage knowing I am only asking such a question out of the insatiable desire to see my own. When I think about what my creature, my question must be, I start running around in circles knowing that if I just move fast enough maybe I’ll break the space-time continuum and catch the bastard by the tail. And I imagine myself shouting “HA!” and then imagine starting to think, What happens now?


Sometimes when I go to bed I really do wonder if this is the end.
Then again, sometimes when I go to bed I go to sleep.

Where I go from there…haven’t the faintest idea. Just a bunch of theories, each one sounding least likely then the last, but oh so immensely wondrous.

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