in the dead of night is when all the assholes come out, and they drive your buses, and they always make you late because their fatass thinks that a coconut tastykake at 3am is precisely the thing that is going to keep them going. so they stop at the gas station that is no more than 5 minutes from 30th Street (after already leaving New York 30 minutes late).

all this happened after he pulled over the bus a separate time and threatened to call the police on an asian student after he accidently (and harmlessly) decided to walk down the front steps of the multi level bus.

ive had a thing for normal people lately.

let me tell you some normal things about me:

i have lot of friends that i sincerely love and engage in mostly normal relationships with

i drive a normal car

i have a normal job

i am relatively normal for a 22 year old white post graduate

ok thats it

we're into the wandering realm of the season of death, and i shall say how death brings her beauty- in falling leaves. but even more, in welcome brisk nights where you underestimate your bicycle ride, and you are cold.

we fill our bellies with warm things. we reap the fruit of the land in the season of harvest, then we sit around the fire and reap the fruit of good friendship. we give thanks, and it is good. and yet we remember those who have not the means to engage in such heartwarming activities, and we pray for their peace and prosperity.

we wind away, ever casually, towards the dark black night of winter, asking God, who is ever present so deep inside our hearts, to grant us peace and mercy until the long shadows disappear, and we find ourselves once again inside the garden of Eden, as children, not lonely, no, but rejuvenated again by the light of the life-giving rays of spring and the purpose-giving work that is before our hands.

who is the man who makes the music?

we might never know

i realized tonight that i dont think its really possible for aaron to stop talking like aaron. and i know how i do it, its crazy, and i dont want to admit to it or draw attention to it, some things just need to be. but i thought for a minute what it would be like to sit down at a table across from myself and listen to myself rant about some utterly ridiculous thing and struggle to get out phrases that i only half understand myself in my attempt to materialize my very abstract thoughts.

the conclusion that i came to is that i am completely ridiculous. i dont talk in normal terms. i dont think in normal terms. or perhaps i think exactly in normal terms. it is quite possible that even the greatest extent to which we are convinced of our own anomolies is actually bullshit- im no different than anybody else.

sitting across the table, i would say "who is this guy?" in a specific tone of voice. i would also probably say something like "you're nuts" or some similar quip like that.

but im tired of talking about myself. what about you? you matter. what are things you believe to be unique about yourself? im sure you have some. they're not bad. do you struggle with perception too? are you too hard on yourself? self-deprecating?

alright

tonight there is only home, an open window above my bed, and the exceedingly calming and familiar spiced air of an October midnight silence in rural Chester County.

i am invited to rest.