SOL: Fluid

I melted down in
Your arms as if I was a
Dali creation.

3AM Thoughts // AKA “Haiku 80.”

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MIND: Tools

I suppose it is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer,
to treat everything as if it were a nail.

Toward a Psychology of Being // Abraham Maslow

MIND: New Rich

I recently had lunch in San Francisco with a good friend and former college roommate. He will soon graduate from a top business school and return to investment banking. He hates coming home from the office at midnight but explained to me that if he works 80-hour weeks for nine years, he could become a managing director and make a cool $3–10 million per year. Then he would be successful.

“Dude, what on earth would you do with $3–10 million per year?” I asked.

His answer? “I would take a long trip to Thailand.”

4-Hour Work Week // Tim Ferriss

SOL: Borders

My entire body is
Combustible; my nerves are frayed
And teetering on the brink of
Relinquishing all control or finally
Throwing in the towel
It’s not a flag, it’s my
White dress I am waving, symbolically
Dragging myself further down

3AM Thoughts // AKA “Like Children, Mindlessly Drawing Lines In The Sand.”

MIND: Compressed

As for the body, it is solid and strong and curious
and full of detail; it wants to polish itself; it
wants to love another body; it is the only vessel in
the world that can hold, in a mix of power and
sweetness: words, song, gesture, passion, ideas,
ingenuity, devotion, merriment, vanity, and virtue.
Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

Evidence // Mary Oliver

SOL: Adrift

I was lying on
My back in my polka dot sundress
You were in the front of the
Boat, steering us across waves
Into definite abyss but I
Had never loved you more.

3AM Thoughts // AKA “You Were My Captain & You Went Down With The Ship.”

SOL: Mercy

The seaside home post
Hurricane; windows knocked in with
Loving tenderness, glass
Causing explosions of light across
A night sky that raucously
Applauds the natural disaster.
Shingles all but blown off, flapping
Half-heartedly in the breeze, a sad
Showing of resilience.
Door open for the world to see, hiding
Nothing yet the curtains are drawn
On the windows, false modesty.
Protecting the destruction inside as
The water trickles in, soaking the
Stairs with unstoppable power.

3AM Thoughts // AKA “I Am That House.”