Timing is everything. If the fuse is lit too soon, well, you know the rest. If it is not lit soon enough… So how do we find that single right moment? Or is it that the moment finds us and we mold ourselves to it?

Under the pressure of time, opinions fester and solidify. Self-righteousness takes over, flattens us, shapes our words into sharp little shards we spit through clenched teeth.

Anger is to be recognized in its budding stage — notice it, understand its taxonomy, know its natural history, its markings. When you see it, bring it near, look closely. Then sneeze on it and show it to a friend. Examine it together, explore it thoroughly, know what its message is and then deliver it as yourself.

If you have allowed the bud to bloom, time has already made a mockery of you. Its blinding single-mindedness leaves scorched earth where a simple harvest would have sufficed.


The permanence of the stain

Four-and-a-half hours
Blood, forlorn, pooling on pavement

What misplaced sense of justice
To deny the question
What slithering sanctimony
To walk away smirking
What fervent delusion
To clothe this naked emperor

As if namelessness could
End the story
As if namelessness could
Change the past
As if namelessness could
Remove this stain