Thursday, June 20, 2013


I name everything and everyone.

I've even named my compulsive need to name.

I call it a "human condition." It felt only fitting that it be named the same as so many other things we can't quite put our fingers on but they feel uniquely... human. Cliche.

It's the first box.
The primary label
The "Oh, now-I-know-where-to-put-that-in-my-head."

Like a skeleton of the first construct that serves to make things... make sense.
... Speaking of a human condition

Everything has a place
It all makes sense
It works
There are even patterns in a shuffle

And then I was born...

It's a human condition.

It's where nature and nurture make a pact and settle for confusing us all.
Taught like a shelter against evil
Like bad things don't happen to good people
And we're all good people...

... I've composed these thoughts of large boxes containing smaller boxes and still smaller boxes.
I've sorted out ways to keep everything where it belongs.
I built walls like a rosery
Half prayer and half superstition

At the end of the day maybe I'm just looking for protection
Just trying to understand
As if I could

And somewhere I feel like God is sitting wondering why I insist on insulting his intelligence with mine

Understanding. Making sense. Boxes. Names.

None of it makes sense...