An Infinity of Inconsequential Beauties @albertxylin - Tumblr Blog

Deep Clean Vacuum

I disassemble the vacuum. I pull it apart, More detailed than I have ever done before. I remove every screw, And put them aside in a labelled bag So none of them get lost. It's important to remember that you need to build things back up After you break them down.

There's more in the guts of this machine than I would have imagined. All of it is caked in epochs of petrified dust That regular maintenance will not dislodge. I wash it off, And scrub with an old toothbrush. It is cleaner now, And after it dries I put it back together, Carefully making sure everything is where it's meant to be. I'm surprised it all fits. I swear it's lighter. I swear it shines.

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Bin Collection

I make sure that the bins are out. I remember moving them, But to check is a matter of minutes And may prevent a big problem come tomorrow. I did indeed move the bins already, But the peace of mind is worth the extra time.

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Solo Ghost

I walk through a gallery by myself. No companion, No conversation, Just me and my boots and a labyrinth of colour.

For a few hours I let myself become a ghost, Blending in with the background, Just another body going about their day, No need to be a person, Just a pair of eyes.

It is different to what I've grown accustomed to, But it is still familiar. Solitude is an old companion who's due for a reunion. I enjoy the peace while it's visiting.

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Dear Perfectionist

The world won't end because you made a mistake. There's nothing to be gained from beating yourself up For something that cannot be changed. The past is immutable, No matter how much you wish that isn't the case. Better to focus on tomorrow And make sure it doesn't happen again. So pick yourself up, Wipe the tears from your face, And know that everything will be okay.

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Subtle Minefields

I've gotten very good at picking out shellfish. I know generally what products are likely to contain it, And which dishes have it hidden inside. This is an important skill when you have an allergy.

I stare at a plate of vegetables, Mixed with miniscule motes of mincemeat, And notice the opacity and curve of some small brown flecks. That is not pork, it is shrimp.

Others don't see it at first, And take a moment to look closer. It takes them focus to do what is now instinct, And I realise that we live different lives. I realise that some of us walk through minefields That others don't even notice.

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Winter Magic

There's something about a cold winter's night. There's something in the air That takes me away from Sydney and into the memory of another city. For a moment the signs are in Japanese And vending machines line the street And the foreign and familiar meet In a mix of ozone and urban pollution. For a moment the boundaries of the world blur And I can almost believe that Tokyo is just around the corner. For a moment there is possibility, Frozen potential, A fragile bubble waiting to burst.

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Medical Smoke

A doctor and a nurse take a smoke break. At first I think about the hypocrisy of health professionals Engaging in profoundly unhealthy behaviour, But if anyone would understand the risks enough to make an informed choice It would be them.

But consider self-sacrificing behaviour. Consider long shifts and stressing to save lives, Consider a profession centred around helping others Often at the expense of oneself, Burning out like ash in the wind. Smoking starts to make sense, A lungful of heat to stave off the hollowness and blunt the exhaustion, Just one more self-destructive way to feel alive.

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Forest Priorities

Perspective clarifies priorities. The things that can be fixed, The things that can wait, The things that can't.

There is no perspective at ground level, Lost in the trees, Unable to differentiate one from the others. They are all brown and rooted to the ground And too big and heavy to carry. But the moment your eyes are opened wide as you fly, The moment you are forced to witness the entirety of the forest And the future that stretches to the horizon, The path forward becomes clear.

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Grounding Ritual

I ground myself in the carpet beneath my feet. I ground myself in the whispered hum of my computer. I ground myself in the routines I have built, These rituals in this space With these things that are mine. The sharp edges are blunted, The hard corners are soft, And this moment becomes a shield against the world.

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Cut Short

My haircut is shorter than I expected. It's my own fault for gesturing where I did, Unwilling to breach the awkward airs of social friction, Unfamiliar with a new barber. But it's alright. It's not the end of the world. Sometimes all you need to fix a mistake is time.

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Inching to Safety

A worm lies on the bare tile, Drawn out of the dirt by the rain. It is exposed in the open, And there is just as much chance that it makes it back to survival As it drowns in the drain. I watch as it slowly moves, Wondering if I should intervene, But it crawls its tenacious way to safety, One inch at a time.

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Stitch Free

Stitch your dress. Weave your armour together with whatever is on hand. Patch the wounds with cobwebs And claw the seams apart. Set yourself free from expectation and find your potential In the place before form was frozen. Emerge from the embryonic pudding where life began. Make this fabric yours And turn this cage into the key.

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Jenga Home

A home should not be made from jenga blocks. It's too easy to crumble, Too easy for the façade to fall apart, Too easy for the work put into its creation To disintegrate like eroding topsoil, But it's unsurprising. Homes can be fragile things, And so can we.

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Train Chats

We chat on the train, Not enough time for more conversation, Schedules staggered like tectonic plates. We can only steal this moment for now, Wedge open our calendars just enough To fit a glimpse of each other's lives, Two adults trying to keep a friendship from dying.

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Gift Capacity

There are too many flowers in the house to buy more. It doesn't matter that a birthday approaches Or that I noticed the serendipitous location of a florist, We are at capacity And practicality eventually outweighs sentiment. There are better things to spend my money on, Things that won't go to waste.

In the twelve days of Christmas, How many birds were received Before they tipped past that point? When does gifted fowl go from novel to comical to concerning? Or is the recipient a lover of all things avian? Is their house one big nest, One loving sanctuary full of birdsong and feathers? Is there a house made to hold more flowers? I wonder if the smell is sweet or overpowering.

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Rain Check

I wake up to check if my early morning engagement is cancelled. It is, Thanks to muddy grounds making things unsafe and impractical. I close my eyes and go back to bed. It is too cold and unpleasant to face the day just yet. I suppose I share a decision with the earth; The rain isn't worth dealing with.

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Umbrella Accommodation

I am outside when the rain intensifies. I am halfway through a chore that needs to be completed, So after a quick detour to find an umbrella I brave the wet conditions once again And finish the job.

There's no reason to get soaked, To suffer without support, To ignore the tools available to make things easier. Accommodations exist to assist. There is no shame in using what is available To get the job done.

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An Infinity of Inconsequential Beauties