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noah-fl · 5 years

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Coffee Shop of the week

The Coffee Shop Dynamic

The best places to encourage thought are those appeal to a person's personal interest and taste. The settings that one can find their peace of mind required to think clearly and coherently about their work, hobbies, or goals. A place that should be given at least one chance is any preferred coffe shop.

The coffee shop dynamic is one that I am more than willing to praise highly as one of the better locations to complete work in, congregate inside of, or spend time performing introspection. Now this aforementioned "dynamic" is unfortunately a vague concept, however, that is exactly what does it justice. The feeling upon walking through the door of any preferred establishment, smelling the day's roast, and achieving much needed tranquility is like no other. At the moment of the first sip, as relaxation overcomes the body, an inspiring peace arises. The daunting work is belittled to a mere assignment shrunken down to a cup or two of coffee or what have you, dreams are attainable, friends become closer, and strangers become acquaintances. One such place that comes to mind is the Lost Dutchman Coffee House.

Located at 12 N. Center St. in Mesa, Arizona, this particular establishment boasts a smaller, albeit a more inviting, dining area that is to be expected of local coffee shops. If anything the only certainty of the decreased size is the interaction between patrons as they converse amongst themselves in a room that speaks volumes. One aspect in particular that appealed to me the most was the decoration of the room (the mannequin in the corner was a surprising discovery upon my first visit) and the wooden paneling that wraps the room in a sense of what I took to be an effect not found anywhere else but a coffee shop. Lost Dutchman has a personality all its own and while this is true for almost any other smaller location, everything from the tables, couches with a, believe it or not, coffee table, the two booths located in the corner across from the entrance, the chess set that is available with request, and of course, the faithful mannequin in the corner, all add to what it means to find oneself in a coffee shop, to find oneself in the Lost Dutchman Coffee House.

Although the room itself is reason enough to enter, the menu and staff are more than enough reason to stay. Unfortunately I am one of simple tastes and have yet to branch out of my comfort zone concerning coffee and tea (smoothies and gelato that make me question my morals are in no short order also) so I cannot offer much of an opinion on the menu but I will stand by the sentiment that the caramel macchiato and the elephant vanilla with almond milk as well as other allergen free options have yet to do me a disservice (a better and much more descriptive method is the menu itself http://lostdutchmancoffeehouse.com/img/menu.jpg).

In relation to the staff, I must apologize for my time spent at the coffee shop was not focused on who was taking my order but my memory works well enough to allow me to recall that no matter who was willing to do so, I never felt rushed or treated poorly. In fact, the manner in which the staff interact with each guest is one of the more meaningful reasons for my wanting to return for no matter how good the coffee is, it is the people who truly make the experience.

Despite my previous ramblings of my own personal affair with coffee shops, I implore any who read this to make the effort to visit the Lost Dutchman Coffee House even if they disagree with my opinion, I am assured that whosoever makes the attempt will find something worthwhile on their visit.

#coffee #locallymade #mesa arizona

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noah-fl · 5 years

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I was the use and the meaning, I, Gail Wynand. That I lived and acted

Ayn Rand, The Foutainhead

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noah-fl · 5 years

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Echo

Oh to be a wanderer of this magnificent world. To gaze upon the offerings of the Earth and space is rarely accepted free-

As much as I want a meaningful word to drip onto the pages I cannot muster an impactful notion to overcome my writing and propel my mind to thoughtless intent. It doesn’t feel write, this environment. Something has changed. I can feel it. The world is not the same.

Pages turn continuously and the smell of coffee has yet to diminish (my perfect setting) yet it remains. I have lost a piece of myself. Or maybe I gained something new. Either way, the ideas are forced and the ink itself has altered. I have yet to even know if I bleed as I did before. I’ve the mind to assume my body is not my own. A force has become me and taken my core so that only my physicality is left. Am I to prosper or be a vapid echo of my once celebrated state.

#my writing #sense of self #word vomit

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noah-fl · 5 years

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The Way a World Dies.

Seeing the way the sun interacts with the horizon in the final moments before it is torn away is a pleasure akin to no other. Bearing witness to the way the land disappears and how the nothing goes to something and returns to being just so is the clear truth of the second law of thermodynamics. Entropy may mean the end in most cases but let it not be said that it isn’t a glorious one. Just the mere mention of partaking in the way a world dies is reason enough to stay behind.

The voices call out, pleading vehemently for the last seat on the last opportunity to live be taken. They fail. As safety leaves, the Earth cracks down to its core to reveal its most sensitive parts. The parts that give it magnitude and meaning. The parts that affirm its placement in the cosmos even when it should not be where it is. None of this should be. Not Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, Venus, Pluto, and whatsoever there may be. As it came from nothing so it shall return.

In the most dire of situations that strain the strongest mettles it would follow, logically, that panic would ensue. The ground that has been trod by quadrupedal and bipedal creatures for fathomless millenia is shorn away, quick as can be, in the event of the way a world dies. Trees uproot, roads disintegrate, water evaporates, air thickens, and fires rage. However, a strange calmness lies ever present at the center of it all. That point being a mountain.

Fires may rage but from that breathtaking vantage point it appears to be the last moments of a terrifying sunset. The air may thicken but from that height it is too thin to care. The water may evaporate, roads may disintegrate, trees may uproot, but quietly notice the enduring tranquility in such a rapidly changing world.

Most would have sought shelter long before. Perhaps they would have been smart to do just that. It matters not now. There is no point in focusing on what could have been when such a chaotic masterpiece is at the cusp of fruition. In fact, some would say it is an insult to the world to put on that unforgettable show and have it be ignored. It deserves to be paid attention to. Regret is folly if the situation is irreversible so instead contemplate the life of the world: the pain it has seen, the joy, the sorrow. Glimpse upon the patience it has for its inhabitants in creating an environment just right for evolution.

Think about the reason for placement in the universe with billions of galaxies and countless more planets with a space so vast that the attempt of reaching all its parts is quite literally impossible. Lucky enough, not every planet needs to be visited and not every galaxy needs to be mapped. One will be suitable for the purpose of thought. This one. Its history is rich and in no small quantities that are willing to offer up a diverse and sentient knowledge. There was supposed to be more to it, yesterday almost assured that, but there isn’t. Now there is only the way a world dies.

Although it is cataclysmic, partaking in the experience creates a sacred union of the creatures so graciously given life by the planet and the celestial body itself. The two are housed in a galaxy that randomly affirmed their placement in a cosmos that should not exist. Nevertheless, the merging of the two is imminent. They are fated to drift out into the nothingness together. Those who passed through would remain ignorant to what occurred and it is right for them to remain so. The bystander had not been present, had not contemplated the world at its end, had not witnessed the disappearing horizon, had not felt for a moment the intense heat then nothing. So it is perfectly adequate for those unfortunate beings to create the assumption of mere dust and not of the most perfect union.

#spacestuff #writers

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noah-fl · 5 years

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Desire

The feeling of it was interesting and terrifying. I stood above the lake and tried to find meaning in the horizon but I didn’t. The sound of the water called to me, beckoning me to embrace the cold and feel the air being stolen from my lungs. It never came to that; the entire situation varied from how I imagined the event to be. It was meant to be enlightening, a fitting end to the years I took. I was disappointed to discover that I felt no great feeling of weightlessness upon knowing that the death I chose was my own. In actuality I focused more on what my body would look like. I thought about the person who would try to save me, how it would be reported and what picture they would show on the news.

Another thought that came to mind was that I hadn’t the chance to clean my room or do my laundry. I felt a pang of regret that the ones who were nominated to empty the space I used would have to bear witness to the state I left it in. What would they say about me from what they saw? Quite the ridiculous topic to contemplate in relation to suicide considering I would no longer be required to care about such trivialities yet it displays to me now my desire. Try as I might to remain independent of external opinions I want those who know me to envy me. I want them to wish they had me or want to be me when they examine the meaning behind the life I led and my accomplishments. That is all I could leave behind me once I exit this plane of existence. Not wealth or things. Not power or authority. Just my desire.

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noah-fl · 5 years

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Hope

The last piece. that's what he always hated about puzzles. It wasn't the time it took to complete one of the many he had come across for that was part of the experience and no matter how many he completed, the pleasure of discovering where a certain piece fit never waned. the patience he had learned from the countless puzzles was indeed a virtue that he had needed so very badly but no matter how patient he became, the final moments before a scene was completed were always the hardest. In this case the process that had taken several hours to reach the end was finally coming to a close as Mr. Reed pushed the piece into it's space to complete the face of an aging man. With only two pieces left Mr. Reed became confused and then eventually frustrated with himself. There were three empty spaces. He placed the two objects into their appointed slots before checking the box, table, floor and his pants (the last result of a particularly troublesome puzzle Reed had encountered some months earlier).

In the end the piece could not be located and Mr. Reed sighed and pushed back his chair, being sure to pick it up ever so slightly to avoid disturbing Alfonse, the white and gray cat he had picked up three years ago and who now rested on a rocking chair stained by years of use. Brushing off the coffee table and replacing the chair, Mr. Reed had accepted the inevitable and took the top off the cardboard box that showed the man from before and a person that could be assumed to be his son sitting on the beach with an umbrella. The thought of such a masterpiece going unfinished saddened Reed. It wasn't the first time a puzzle went uncompleted but allowing it to occur pained him. As he moved to break up the puzzle and slide it to the box he paused to note the slight bulge in the center of the man's forehead. Reed prodded the imperfection to smooth out the image but had no luck. He supposed it did not matter at that point so he removed the forehead and several sections of the surrounding area.

Laying on the table where the man's face had once been was the missing piece. it contained the left eye of the man's son. Ever so slowly Reed lifted the eye and inserted it into its rightful position before replacing the others he had removed. Staring at the image gave him a sense of contentment that could only be achieved after a long day's work. About ten seconds passed in which Reed did nothing but look at what had come to fruition before him. At the end of this time he placed the cardboard box at the edge of the table and swept the puzzle into it, obliterating the scene entirely. He placed it among the many others on the shelf he had built 10 years ago then walked to his refrigerator accompanied by the clicking of his left knee. Reed opened the fridge and upon careful inspection he could only see a carton of eggs days past their expiration, a jug of milk that had yet to be opened, cheese in a plastic bag, sandwich meat, ketchup, mustard, a lousy excuse for a hotdog, and five inches of a summer sausage. Reed grabbed the sausage and milk and, after much contemplation, the cheese and shut the door.

By this time Alfonse had chosen another place to sleep so Reed claimed the chair as his own. Just before taking a bite of the sausage a small explosion echoed throughout the building he shared with fifteen other people. “The goddamn microwave broke again.” Reed sighed, moments later he heard Grayson Earl confirm his statement a couple doors down.

The smoke alarms had inevitably gone off but once they had been quieted Reed settled into the chair to enjoy his meal. He had no television in the living room and as a result his entertainment was more often than not, observing the spacing around him: In the corner next to the hallway was a shabby, plastic kitchen table in need of use, next to that was the shelf filled with puzzles and various items such as a slinky, smartphone, a copy of a magazine issued in 2020, several pictures of himself and his wife Elisabeth, twenty or so disheveled books, and a now blunt machete. To the right of the shelf was a black acoustic guitar with a capo resting on the neck and a handful of picks inside a clear baggy on the ground next to them both. A doorway with no door led to the one bedroom of the apartment that contained a sad looking box-spring and a nightstand with a lamp.

Reed observed all of this with a smile on his face. Others might find the conditions of his living to be quite sad but to him everything he had was more than enough and considering that he and Grayson Earl and the fourteen other people fortunate enough to share the building were the only living humans for quite a ways, Mr. Reed was lucky and happy to be alive so he did not focus on the quality of living. Reed thought about all of this while he ate the last of the sausage and drank less than a quarter of the milk, the cheese went untouched. He sighed peacefully, put the plate, milk, and cheese onto the kitchen table and fell asleep.

Judging by the clock on the wall, Reed had slept for three hours. He pushed himself out of the chair and stretched, waiting for the satisfying pops and cracks. Next he cracked the knuckles in both hands, his back and finally his neck. Elisabeth had always hated the habit but he could never bring himself to stop completely. Once his ritual had been completed Reed went about the business of cleaning his mess, all the while trying to remember what he had dreamed about. Again his mind came up blank. No matter how hard he focused Reed could never bring the memory of his experiences to the front of his mind. He could feel that they were there and thus determined that his bouts of sleep were not completely dreamless but whatever he had seen or heard seemed to remain at the very edges of his mind. Several seconds passed in which he attempted to gently bring the memories into focus, letting them go every now and again in hopes of making them easier to hold on to. Unfortunately he had no luck and soon abandoned his dream catching for a better activity.

His apartment faced the North side of a field with a diameter of about a quarter mile. After this distance trees lined up against the edges of the clearing as if they were yearning to touch that ground again. A form of homesickness Reed could relate to. Before the building he now inhabited, he lived inside a small house with Elisabeth and Alfonse’s predecessor, Cornelius. The garden he and his wife worked together yielded tomatoes, potatoes, carrots and the like. Working out in the sun with the light, bright and blinding, brought a smile to his face, one now filled with sadness.

He could remember how Elisabeth would scream “the ocean is at high tide!” whenever he walked through the door after spending time with his mistress, salty air and unfathomable moisture. In those days he had been a small time fisherman and a professional observer of the vast seas. The way the waves would break against the warped hull and shower the deck in saltiness awoke in him a desire to see it all. Reed could taste it on his tongue years later, far beyond when the seas stung his eyes and stole his breath, far beyond when he had taken Elisabeth out with him and oh how she had giggled maddeningly at the uncertainty of occupying such a meagre space on an entirely foreign world.

Reed was forced back into the apartment building by the sight of Claudia Whittaker walking slowly away from the building. It was quite the odd behavior for that woman to display. She was one of the proponents for closing the doors of the building altogether after all. She seemed to be determined in her direction as she did not turn and look at her surroundings, only focused on the forest ahead of her. As her body decreased with each step the sun caught something on Claudia’s person and reflected back at the building. Reed’s curiosity seemingly infected Alfonse; the cat jumped onto the window sill and stared after Mrs. Whittaker without making a sound. Reed’s hand went to the cat’s ears and stroked them lovingly as a gunshot rang out. He sighed and turned to the cat, “We need to keep our hope, Alfonse, that’s all we have left now. Mr. Earl will have to get her later today.”

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