Provo Graffiti on a Tuesday Night

I walked through my student center just now and passed 15 people around my age juggling bowling pins, hackey sacs, fruit, what have you. I walked a little further and saw a slightly larger number of meandering souls breakdancing to rather bad music. Then I thought to myself, "self, where in western civilization's time continuum am I?" And then I remembered: I'm smack dab in the middle of Provo, in the middle of a valley, in the middle of nowhere.

With such things synched up in my often perplexed brain, I'm doing rather well. I just came from my graduate poetry class--a sweet treat once a week ;). I always take something worthwhile away, and often several thoughts reincarnate themselves into decent poetry later on. I wish more people in this often culture-less culture of ours would grasp the concept of a round table of equals discussing art and communication in the contemporary world. We get so caught up in the right answer that we forget about learning from the missed chances and the cliche wrong turns. I wish that every now and again we'd take a few tenuous moments to actually observe the lives muddling through polluted confusion around us--beneath the statistics and arbitrary boundaries.

But then I am a writer. We read an awful lot which I hear means we don't know the first thing about reality... hmmm. Until next time then all?