Little Utopia Massage

Little Utopia Massage Stress and pain relief at affordable prices. (346) 520-5385
3100 Richmond Ave Suite 308 in Houston, TX 77098.

Just a bit of cuteness overload on a beautiful October day.
10/13/2024

Just a bit of cuteness overload on a beautiful October day.

TJ’s Reply (29)From "Dear TJ: Letters to (and from) My Dogs" (work in progress):Hello Daddy,Three years can be so long, ...
10/04/2024

TJ’s Reply (29)
From "Dear TJ: Letters to (and from) My Dogs" (work in progress):

Hello Daddy,

Three years can be so long, but also so short. This is congruent with the order of things.

I’m in that place where we go when we’re done with what came before, and in both places I remain your good-good boy.

Your friend sounds interesting. I look forward to meeting him some day. (All in due time.) His formulation of a “quantum entanglement of the heart” is more than adequate for an understanding that is restricted to four dimensions. You would do well to hold on to that thought.

I miss you too, Daddy. Even though I’m right here, and at the same time right there, with you. My tears act as a prism that becomes our Rainbow Bridge.

I’ll be waiting there to help you cross, Daddy.

Always your good-good boy,
TJ

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"July 28I don’t think I...
10/04/2024

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"

July 28
I don’t think I thought as a youth that I was ever very remarkable. It turns out that I was right. The older I get, the more I understand just how ordinary I am. I’m tempted to say that this is a good thing, but then I realize there’s nothing good (or bad) about it. Understanding this gives me a certain freedom that I exercise within the confines of my dreams (like now), where here too there is nothing exceptional except that I dream it, knowing that anybody could.

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"March 26The world is s...
10/04/2024

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"

March 26
The world is sagging in the middle, heavy with time and disappointment. I place the heel of my hand at the bottom, for support. This is nothing more than a temporary measure at best, and at worst nothing more than a temporary measure. It feels gooey, like a heart gone irreversibly soft. I need both hands. It hangs around me now like viscous drapery and swallows me in its folds. I realize neither too late nor too early that this is nothing like I imagined and like nothing I can imagine and that the names I have given to everything for so long are either wrong or insufficient, but there seems to be room for error and then some, and part of me thinks that I shouldn’t be surprised but I can’t tell yet which part.

Excerpt (29)From "Dear TJ: Letters to (and from) My Dogs" (work in progress):My Dearest TJ,Three years. Three years ago ...
09/22/2024

Excerpt (29)
From "Dear TJ: Letters to (and from) My Dogs" (work in progress):

My Dearest TJ,

Three years. Three years ago on this date, September 22, 2021, you left this world and went to wherever it is that we go when we are done here. I have missed you so much. So very, very much. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, my “good-good boy” TJ.

I have a friend who, like me, enjoys dabbling in “things quantum.” He recently posed the question, is “true love” a “quantum phenomenon?” I was at a loss for a response (How so quantum?) when he clarified for me:

“Quantum in that when you encounter 'true love' with someone you love them forever. Your mind thinks about them all the time and yes forever. It never goes away no matter the time or distance they are away. Quantum entanglement of the heart.”

This is a perfect description of my love for you, TJ, and how we are forever entangled.

Loving you always,
𝒟𝒶𝒹𝒹𝓎

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"April 20“How could you...
09/21/2024

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"

April 20
“How could you do this to me?” she wails. “Is her question rhetorical?” I wonder to myself. “F**k you!” I explain. We’re deeply in love. Madness blossoms in the garden and under the grass, where things with many legs and even none still root and prosper. Love is a many splendored thing, and don’t forget to take the garbage out, it’s Tuesday, after all. But then we were saying. And we did, which I note is the past tense first-person plural of I do. Those were heady times, full of promises ripe on the vine that wither did they go? Poetry in motion, I’m sure, and it moved, with no forwarding address. Well then. What goes around goes around and goes around, you’d better jump on while the jumping is good. I can’t speak for myself, so I won’t. Two heads are better than none, and it’s a match made near heaven, in a suburb most likely, where young couples end up old and develop the art of loving negotiation and forgiveness, which is the dirt in which things grow.

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"February 19Without rec...
09/21/2024

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"

February 19
Without recalling exactly how and why, I seem to have climbed to the top of … something. Maybe a mountain. Or a ladder. The shoulders of giants? Could be just a stairway. The climb was long and arduous. Or short and a breeze. I seem to have choices. I begin to exhibit signs of altitude sickness: headache, dizziness, poor career decisions. I sense a growing mob behind (below?) me, but I’m unable to turn around. If I could remember my name, I would know if it’s me they’re shouting at. Because I’m hungry, a Mr. Taco truck approaches, but it misinterprets my hitchhiker’s thumb to be signaling “Good job!” and keeps on going. The mob has grown bored and returned to the shopping mall. I’m left at the top, hungry and out of work and just as alone as before I arrived. The elevator to my right dings. I ride it down, all the way to the bottom, where a sign reads “There is nowhere to go but up.” I begin to doubt the veracity of words because of what they might mean.

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"October 8I’m nearly th...
09/18/2024

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"

October 8
I’m nearly there now but not quite because there’s still so much farther to go. "Hey! Ho!" I’m not sure why I just said that. Fortunately, it doesn’t matter. Nothing does, except that I get there soon. Six hours late for brunch is nearly inexcusable, but I think I can find one. I’m resourceful in this way. Besides, the appointment wasn’t that important, it was only with myself, and I know for a fact that I’m capable of being quite forgiving if I’m left with no other choice and absolutely have to be. I don’t know why and I don’t want to. This wind is blowing hard, it’s like another world. It strikes me that there are things that, at first sight, don’t seem to signify much of anything, and then, later, this initial perception turns out in fact to be the case. I won’t quibble, I don’t want to get bogged down in too many details, they have a way of ruining a good story. As I may have said already, I’m nearly there, although certainly no closer than I was before, which, if memory serves me correctly, was not that long ago. Some of my most significant memories are most deeply rooted in the immediate past. I suspect there could be some kind of connection to the present that just recently happened. This is not just anybody’s ill-conceived notion, this is MY ill-conceived notion. I seem to have lost my way. In a way, yes. In a kind of way. But I dare not let myself be distracted by wayward thoughts, I prefer my distractions to be more straightforward, like the fact that it’s becoming dark before my very eyes. There’s not much to be said for the night, I think, the day either, for that matter, and that’s all I have to say on that subject. I suppose I could ask for directions, but I don’t like being interrupted. I’m lost. No matter. I don’t know why. I thought I did, but I don’t. Know why, that is. I want to be sure to take the same number of steps with each foot, I’ve always had a thing about symmetry, and I know how difficult it is to avoid doing again what you have already done once. Therefore, just repeat it, and make sure it’s equal on both sides. I apologize for these incidental details and will try to move on at a greater speed, especially since I’m still running late, even later than before, if you can imagine that. I know I can. Imagine, that is. I’ve always loved doing nothing. Believe me, I speak from experience. I decide, against my better judgment, which ran out some time ago, to stop and ask for help, but I’m unable to formulate a question. Instead, I confide in the next passer-by, in appropriate undertones, “I don’t remember having been seriously molested,” and this simple statement by itself, factual as it may be (I have no recollection), does nothing to get me closer to my brunch appointment, which looks as if it could still be several hours away. I’m wondering if my arriving late will hurt my chances of advancement when I suddenly happen upon my destination.

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"April 2I follow the bi...
09/17/2024

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"

April 2
I follow the birds. They seem such fragile things. I want to ask them how they know where to go, but I’ve forgotten their words for “where” and “go,” which I realize leaves me with only very little, so very little, and not even wings, and I pump my useless arms furiously south, because south is where we’re going now, even though I don’t know where exactly or how to say it anymore, and then there are updrafts on occasion — there’s one just now — and I catch my breath and try not to remember that I can’t really fly, not south or in any other direction, and that the birds and the forgotten words and the directions and the updrafts are all in my mind trying to tell me something that seems so unmistakably clear when I can’t hear it, so unmistakably clear that I want to pass it on to my children, pass it on to them before they fly away south or some other heavenly direction that I don’t understand and can’t find on my own.

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"May 27I’m standing at ...
09/16/2024

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"

May 27
I’m standing at a talking fence. It seems to be in disagreement with itself about whether or not I should cross. As usual, I wait for someone else to make the decision, and then a gate appears in the fence and opens inward. I take this as an invitation and, because I have nowhere else to go or be, I pass through. From this side now, the world looks different but in a similar way, and I follow a road that wasn’t there before, as it winds through a pasture and into downtown. I notice there are no zoning laws here and decide upon a homestead. But I pull up stakes, as they say, before I’ve even put them down, and wander to the outskirts of town on the other side, where there is unpopulated flatness and the sudden edge of the earth. From here I look in all directions but mostly down, amazed and comforted that there could be so much of nothing below my feet.

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"January 28I generally ...
09/16/2024

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"

January 28
I generally don’t care for these affairs, but I decide to attend my own funeral. Others are there as well. Sadness is in the air, I think, and pollen levels are unusually high. It’s an unpleasant and eternal experience, on the whole. I shall write home about it. Should I include the standard obituaries or write my own? The latter could be a good exercise in character building, but it’s a little late for that now. Still, time being of no concern at this point, I figure why not? And so, on such-and-such a day in such-and-such a month of such-and-such a year, such-and-such an individual emerged. I (being said such-and-such individual) had a presence that persisted for such-and-such a length of time. Said presence has now been replaced by absence, but since presence and absence are two sides of the same coin (existence?), not unlike light and darkness, my presence during such-and-such a length of time could be said to have presupposed an absence, if not “here,” then somewhere else (i.e., “there”), just as my current absence could be said to presuppose a presence, similarly not here but somewhere else (see above). I’m vaguely aware that all of this is only so much conjecture, but at this point my hands are (figuratively) tied. There are tears, but not mine. Should I be comforted? I don’t want them to suffer. That much hasn’t changed. Some of those in attendance are already beginning to look like the strangers they might have been beforehand. All of us are working now with only what we can recall. This is an all too common affliction, and neither presence nor absence seems to make any difference. For what it’s worth, I collect the tears. I’ll use them to fill my eyes to the brim. What can I say? I'm a sentimentalist at heart. That hasn’t changed either.

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"January 25Everyone is ...
09/16/2024

Excerpt from "From Here to There: Time Spent on the Inside of the Outside of the Inside of Dreams"

January 25
Everyone is waiting. A big announcement is coming. It has something to do with something, something that could affect lives. We’re all concerned, so we buy popcorn to pass the time. The floor is sticky, like somebody didn’t clean it between movie showings. There’s a siren in the distance, the kind that warns of tornados and nuclear attacks. Where did we park the car? This was before, when phones weren’t yet quite so smart and people weren’t yet quite so stupid, like when the face of a clock was still mostly intelligible, although it made no difference because it was already too late anyway. A plane flies overhead, trailing a banner that reads “Happiness is within reach!” It seems so very high, but I think if I buy more stuff I just might be able to reach it. The plane circles most of the afternoon and then goes … somewhere. I’m left wanting more popcorn and something to slake my thirst. There are no bells signaling the end of class. Time simply runs out.

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