"Fearless", by Pink Floyd on the Meddle album (kids, don't forget to trip out on the music by any band who was played. So many bands play their music, but very few are brave enough to be played. What is playing the musician?)

I was spinning poi on the rooftop and that song saturated something reluctantly ready to grow in me. Like spring rains, sponged up by a thirsty soil. And the music played me and I played the poi and I watched the sun set, I skryed the sunset, like I have been doing now at least five times a week from my rooftop. Who was playing the musician?

The Ipod played the musician and the recharagble lithium extended-life battery played the Ipod and excited particles played the battery. What is playhing the particles?

Sometimes I live off a list. And I work harder to check more things off the list so that if I work hard enough I will eventually earn my free time. Why does money equal time recently? Why do I save a few moments for my best girlfriend? Why do I spend an hour making business calls? One thing I know is you can't work harder to have more free time. You have to not work to have free time. In fact, I’m not working right now.

And I feel free.

I realized spinning poi as the sun set tonite, that I wasn't tasking. I wasn't "spinning poi", item #12 - checked off. I was free, I was a kid at recess. I was playing.

Who was playing me?


So "Fearless" came on my Ipod and the sun nested under the horizon and I propped the roof door shut behind me before walking into this apartment, where, when I took of my headphones, the Mac laptop I left playing Itunes playing wify playing the home stereo was playing the exact same song . In the exact same rhythm. At the exact same phrase as the one that was playing in my headphones.

I thought I was the great artist. I thought I was the creator. But c’mon, what is living me for real?

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