on remembering to look up

So the bindle is two years old today. How about that? When it was born I was living on wasabi peas, drinking myself to sleep every night on a mattress on the floor of a bare room. These words and sounds and images were a desperate attempt to communicate with a world that didn’t particularly care.

But life is a wild thing. Perpetually shifting and uncertain, each fading sunset could be replaced by absolutely anything. It’s so god damn beautiful — casually, constantly, like it’s nothing. Whenever I remember to pick my head up out of myself, there it is: So vivid, so bright, so saturated with light and sound and sensation.

Sandwiched between billions of years of darkness and endless nothing, this tiny riot of existence is unbelievable. Some days it’s so much I can’t stand it.

Some days it’s hard to be a cynic.

Joshua Clark Orkin

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