Transmission

This is my life,
these are my words;
my body,
my blood

- take of them what you will...


Too much?

(throat clearing noise)

So there was this sculpture - a sign really - and it said:

HOPE

I saw it hanging on a fence at Central & McDowell, made of gleaming sheet-metal, in block letters about a foot high.

Truth is, I don't have much to say these days, tend to keep my own council - a product of getting older, I suppose...

And the reverence I once had for the Arts has greatly diminished:

One man* builds a brick wall; another paints a painting - often based on nothing more than personal predilection. Who deserves more accolades?

Call it Zen.
Call it being a crochety old man.
Call it whatever you want.

But when "HOPE" appeared, I felt like something important had been transmitted.

So this is me saying thank you. I heard you. I get it.
Thank you for reaching out.

And I will attempt to do the same.

In a crochety old man way, perhaps, but nonetheless...

*woman, child, sentient being from the stars, whatever...