Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.
-Anthem, Leonard Cohen
This is my imperfect offering, in honor of the man who had an intimate conversation with the world for five decades. He was a crazy bastard living in a suit, and although he never knew it, he was my man. As someone said, Leonard Cohen knew when to leave a party.
This abstract contains neither sky nor clouds. Nothing is what it appears to be. Neither is it broken. It is a mystery, and it is mended.
The birds they sang
At the break of day
I heard them say.
Don’t dwell on what
Has passed away
Or what is yet to be.
Maybe some day all this will make sense.
There's a painter in Oregon's Alvord Desert by the name of John Simpkins. There is an anthill in his yard. He has placed stones upright encircling the anthill and calls it "Anthenge."
Do the ants come out and wonder who created it and why? Is this all about perspective and whoever is farthest out understands the most?
Maybe now Your Man understands more than he ever dreamed possible. And quietly chuckles.
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