Joe Sold Out

It’s a pretty good feeling when you write a Thing and then strangers read that Thing and decide they like that Thing enough to share it with other strangers.

A Brief Exercise in Finding Your Way

A Brief Exercise in Finding Your Way

Joseph Hunter

Open your eyes.  If your eyes are already open, close them, allow yourself to forget what you have been looking at, all the things you have seen and everything you have taken at its subjective, superficial value.  Purge the images from your mind and cleanse the palette such that not the faintest sensation of sight stains it, such that not the slightest hint of experience remains to taint the brilliant, or the dull, but in any case, the new, color and vision, such that the first new glimmer of scenery will comprise and redefine the whole of your outlook, at least insofar as it relates to this exercise.  Once you have achieved this, return to the beginning of this paragraph, skipping ahead after the first three words.

Look straight ahead.  What do you see?  Is it appealing?  Look to your left, and then to your right, and once more straight ahead.  Close your eyes and count to your favorite number, holding your breath if it is a reasonable thing to ask of yourself, then open your eyes once more and exhale.  What do you see?  Is it appealing?  Remember to breathe in again, and to exhale, and to breathe in again, and so on.  Try breathing through your nose, slowly, and allow the air to caress the insides of your nostrils, allow it to linger for just a moment longer than it should so that you may experience all the delicate aromas it has to offer you.  Is it appealing?  Take this as you observe your surroundings, first looking straight ahead, and then left, and then right, and then once more straight ahead, and allow the sights and smells to work in concert, allow yourself to fall at their mercy and, if you should feel the urge, to be moved by them either spiritually or emotionally. 

Now close your eyes and count backward from your favorite number, holding your breath until you absolutely cannot do so any longer.  If you should reach zero while still holding your breath, continue into negative numbers, or perhaps work through the alphabet, either forward or backward, until you must breathe.  When you do breathe, keep your eyes closed and breathe through your mouth as quietly as you possibly can, so as to allow as little distraction as possible from the symphony of sounds building around you, melodious or dissonant, gentle or cacophonous, or perhaps—even more than likely—firmly in between.  Rotate your body as far as you can to the left, and then to the right, to take in the sounds from all directions.  Open your eyes.  Do the sounds make sense?  Take a deep breath, slowly, and through your nose, as steady as possible and with an intense focus: Do the sounds make sense?  Are they appealing?

And now, with some finality, extend your arms out as far as they will go.  Do your fingertips touch anything?  If they do not, or even if they do, rotate your body once more at the hips as far as you can, first to the left, then to the right, and then return your focus straight ahead, and take a moment to note what your fingertips and hands and arms and shoulders touched.  Remember as you do this to breathe, and to watch, and to listen, and if nothing was around for you to feel, don’t worry!—but extend your arms forward and bend down, first at the hips until it becomes uncomfortable, and then at the knees, until your hands are bent up and your palms are touching the ground.  How does it feel?  Move your hands in circles, then back and forth, then forward and backward, allowing the soft or the coarse or the rigid texture to massage your palms.  Is it appealing?  Look down, and then up, and then to the left and to the right (in whichever order you decide is most appropriate), and continue to listen as your skin brushes against the ground.  Breathe slowly and deliberately, through the nose.

This is where you are.  If it is appealing, consider remaining there until you are able to form more definite opinions.  If it is not appealing, then where you are is not where you want to be: Go where you are not, and begin this exercise again.  If your eyes are closed and your mind is clear, skip ahead after the first three words.

Wishing for Snow

When I lived in North Carolina, one of the greatest things was the weather. It was, to my thin Florida blood, legitimately cold about about five straight months, and I loved every second of it (except scraping ice off my windshield at 5 a.m. before work). Even when the heater would go out (which was once every few weeks) and it dipped to the 40s inside my apartment, I tried my hardest never to take it for granted.

Even still, it didn’t snow too much—maybe just three times or so while I was there. But when it did, I must have looked like a little kid compared to all the annoyed, frustrated, jaded Chapel Hill residents.

These pictures are from the first time it snowed there. It was a beautiful day, one of the finest I had in the Great North State.

I awoke one morning and looked out my window to find this! It was going to be a nice day.

My car, covered in some snow one early North Carolina’s morn.

I really like the colors in this one. Very Christmassy.

This was the view from inside my car. It took forever to scrape all the ice off the windshield.

Beautiful… this little business plaza was just a couple hundred feet outside my apartment.

If you’re wondering, yes, there were perfect, pristine icicles hanging from almost all the buildings in Chapel Hill.

I mean to make “YMCA,” but started too far to the right and had to go back and re-do it. Hence, this says “YMCAY.” Whoops.

The apartment complex’s basketball/tennis court was not immune to nature’s icy grip.

It’s a good thing I wasn’t relying on street signs to tell me how to get to work.

Apparently my account got hacked. That last post was not by me. I wouldn’t recommend clicking the link. I have no idea what it is, which means it’s probably a virus. Sorry.