Leaf Blowers and the Infinite Universe

Its grey today but I know the sun will break through and burn away any hopes of rain and the smell of a new world rain always seems to bring. 

Fucking leaf blowers. I watch from the 13th story of my building as one tiny little man with a motor on his back blows around a bunch of dead leaves. Does he get paid to do this? If I were a leaf blower man, I would be a bad leaf blower man. I would walk into banks, high on gas fumes and seven eleven coffee and blow the shit outta that place. No one wants to fuck with the hostel, dirty air of a gas powered leaf blower, or the dead soul operating it. Has the world always been this silly?

From the 13th story of my building I watch the hand of god compose me a song of jaded ambulance sirens hauling off the dead or near dying, hundred thousand dollar cars honking at hundred dollar cars. Neon churches of fried meat and disciples of bad style litter the landscape below as cops on bicycles roll up on unsuspecting lovers smoking crack in the shadows.

From my brick and concrete nest in the sky everything below me looks so silly. While I am up here safe in my room I know one day I'm gonna have to go down there and be apart of "all that mess." I am "all that mess" after all, but alone, alone I am divine. For now my hands are stained with paint and love and my electronic leash is buzzing away at something or someone desperately trying to reach me. If freedom is an illusion then I will make slavery an illusion and die with a smile.

The colors of this new painting glare back at me like the window from my 13^th story building. The two compete for my attention like jealous children. One is the madness I cannot control; the other is the product of my control. Both have taken on an urgency in its colors never seen by these eyes of mine.

I am going to be a father.

Those words repeat over and over again in the shell of my mind. I am going to be a father.... All I rebelled against, feared, loved, despised and sought to be, is coming around. Everything I stood for and lost is coming right back home to papa.

I feel the sun through my little window and I wish for rain. I pretend I am a child again and I wish for rain. I know and understand love now. My painting and my window both tell me to prepare. A rain is gonna fall, and its gonna make me new.