I’m twenty-eight now. Just turned. It’s a funny story of life, being young, in your twenties, and people starting to tell you you’re getting old. Seems no one’s ever old at all until they’re too old, you know? There’s getting old, sure, but there’s only one, singular old. And I’m not it. Not yet, anyway. But I like the jokes, really. I’m pushing 30. The big dirty. Maybe not.

Either way, life right now is exactly how life seems to go; there’s a possible crease in the coming months; a folding of two eras with all their geographical influence regarded. A transition, in so many words. We’re all in transition. Everyone. Always. Well, usually…sometimes.

My what a draft of exacerbation; this partial eclipse of some forgotten star with some forgotten moon…to paint it would be to do so with broad strokes, I suppose, but bold and grand, like the traffic in New York, appearing at once sometime ago without regard to the logistics of organization, just sheer ingenuity, and instinct; no feeling, just an intellect designed. And yet the artist lives to exact a replication improved upon, with the taste of the figurative cream obstructed by the real, bland coffee we had no idea was in the mug to begin with…

I toss a metaphor here and a metaphor there to guide me through the muck of my thoughts, for mine do shiver from no shelter at times. Hell, there’s more to my reality than that which contrasts, like the clouds and the sky. Yet, I am still overwhelmed by a caustic depiction of two separate future selves, and at 28, there’s more to my view of a future to write about without stating some things to myself; things which are important for me to hear myself say.

And yet I hear myself think them; I hear myself say them; I record what is heard. And then what? I really don’t know.

And so it goes, hi ho.

What I know to be true – at the very least – is that these times, for you and me and everything in between, existence is in more than transition. We’re evolving. But we’re not getting old. We’re growing up. And that is something for the ages, is it not?