Finitinity : fy ny tinitee / by Michael Garza

I have felt the fine line of when I met you in everything since and often believe you most only by remembering the touch, coal of knowing laid between my shoulder blades, on the arch of the foot I lead with, my whole body is said to be vibrating and that I get when I remember you.

Caw of belief rapping outside every glossy basement window, germ in all sentence, amber spackle in my mother's hazels on her death bed, way I wrap myself in the memory of her life to not say that I blanket up in death. That you can't say yet.

The way pain and scent are memoryborn, the genius in the craft of a gun, the power of marketing one perfume to a sea of grandmothers, patterns I see I cannot unsee the hands for.

Even my right and desire to meander, to play inside my words and thoughts feels like a freedom I was designed for, I run towards, back to.

I say this because today I am an American citizen under an actual megalomaniac, a creature from an Incubus song incarnate, who followed up one of the most amazing displays of the complexity of being American I've ever seen. President Obama fostered hope, no matter what he did in deed. Trump fosters fear, no matter what his policies effect. That distinction, the degree by which so much change has to happen in people's heart of hearts after they read good info, take in honest dialogue, and decide to lean into their conscience which gets dicey, since I consider us imbued with the desire to live like a Creator. That old Platonic idea of "The Forms" except my form is Jesus Christ. The President of the United States would like to think of himself as a Christian, but he's the only professing believer in Jesus I am sure is not one.

So I will say that I crave the sound of sincerity even more now. A man admitting he is wrong. Women who speak openly about their limitations and their immense power. Harried people mulling through their childhoods that were always adulthoods anyways, their current life juxtaposed against their supposed one, the way our prides and hurts always seem to make something flammable when around each other long enough. An old blog I love, whose creator I respect so much since he maybe reached the point where he'd said enough out in this World Wide Unreal and just said "Well that's that." once lived up to Orwell's decree by proving "The great enemy of clear language is insincerity." by writing so so much good work.

A huge influence and inspiration to me who's worth sharing, who we need so badly in these times, whose legacy I hope to carry a match from in light of that torch.

I'm in this for the infinitesimal infinites we get from time to time. Colloquialisms, appearances of god, chillingly awkward moments, which amount to something leaning towards hope, the antithesis of everything I found on HTMLGiant, sadly. My biases are from Corinthians, in that I will always be running forward or towards stories and moments of faith, hope, and love.