Most anyone can form an eye,
an ear, and a smile from a pen
with no need to erase anything
but, my hand can draw the back of hers
in deep colors
slowly, pressing against each fiber.
No Where
Now her
Now here
Now ere
No w e
Now
here
w e
w ere
Where you bury the heart, it will soak up the dirt, and crust over in drought like the grass,Where you bury your love, hope that someone will water you when you are dry. Bury your heart deep, and deeper still than the human eye can tell, and trust that it will rain.
"
There are giants in the sky. There are big tall terrible giants in the sky. When your way up high and you look bellow little more than a glance is enough to show you just how small you are. When you’re way up high and you’re on your own in a world like none that you’ve ever known you’re free to do whatever pleases you. Exploring things you never dared cause you don’t care when suddenly there’s a big tall terrible giant in the sky. A big tall terrible lady giant sweeping the floor. And she gives you food and she gives you rest and she draws you close to her giant breast and you know things now that you never knew before. Not till the sky… and just when you made a friend and all and you know she’s big but you don’t feel small someone bigger than her comes along the hall to swallow you for lunch. And your heart is led and your stomach stone and you’re really scared feeling all alone. And it’s then that you long for the things you own and the little you own the fun is done. You steal what you can and run. You scramble down and you look bellow and the things you know begin to grow. The roof, the house and your mother at the door. The roof the house and the world you never thought to explore, and you think of all of the things you’ve seen. and you wish that you could live inbetween, and you’re back again only different than before, not till the sky.
There are giants in the sky. There big, tall terrible, awesome, scary wonderful giants in the sky.
"
— Stephen Sondheim - There are Giants in the Sky, from Into the Woods.
To be an artist
You must first appreciate
What you destroy.
There was a girl who was very much loved. Maybe she thought she wanted love and perhaps she had said that was what she had always wanted. It was a kind of hunger. Hunger? Love isn’t hunger. Love is starving. You can’t feed it. It’s a patient need and she’s not patient. She envies. She boils and begs and the only emotion that she receives seems to be and pity.
Bet didn’t you say she was loved? Well, she was. She is loved, and she will always be loved very much in the way a mother would say. Please do not ask me what she really wants. What does she really want? Oh, gosh you asked it. Darn you. You asked me what she really wants. Heaven knows what she’s even asking for or what’s even being held at gunpoint. But she’s screaming for it. She’s in the other room yelling at her mother. Yelling at her father and none of them are right. None of them are loved and when they ask for love they aren’t asking for anything but something that deals with hunger the same way little bird beg for worms. Love isn’t something you find in animals. Well, maybe you can find it in well fed animals. Humans are not well fed animals. It’s a strange way to live, all of them
An Art
There is a place him to process his plow the land above water the soil the mind his own business is the plant in him a seed the idea.
A Farmer, imagine the idea of love the home is a verse his sorrow drowns a canvas the deep blue sky leaves rain leaves hope sprouts color sinks underneath.
Yet, the sun will suspire under singing, beating, bringing, weather the ground into growing.
A quaint story of death and sorrow
I don’t like falling in Love can be a See through It will take you deeperStill as the Mourning my dear Son-shine beams.
And through it will melt my sorrow away from the weather you love me or not.
Think about what makes a character worth writing for. It may very well be the same things real people have. Real people are imperfect. Real people don’t fit. They places to go, faves to put up, and feelings to deal with. They have friends, family, mothers and sisters and the things that happen to them happen to us. The thing that makes a character worth writing for isn’t makeup for our dear diary. But, we dream and create a journey as physically difficult as emotionally is ours so that we will know that they are not alone, and that someone before them has succeeded.
The trouble with feeling down and out is that often times we use hobbies that don’t particularly contribute towards the upward climb back to functional sanity. Doing nothing for a minute helps. A day? Makes it worse. Imagine feeling so down and out that you take a day off, and then imagine feeling emotionally useless by the next day because you did nothing the day before. The really horrible thing about this is that we’ve mixed physical and emotional tiredness with on another. If you are physically tired, do nothing for a little. If you are emotionally tired, give some of your time to someone who needs it more, and will appreciate it. If you are both physically and emotionally tired, maybe it’s time to get away.
Do not write to write something. It is better
to have spoken simply to speak, or say
to merely have said. Do not write for words.
It is better to speak as they’d reverberate.
Across each wall they echo overtones
even more muffled beyond recognition.
Before they come back. This is better.
It is better to have forgotten what we’ve said.
But the letters you wrote hurt the most, Those,
those words do not sit, far from it. You will find.
They reverberate. Far from closure to write,
to have written, and sent. Goodbye and even
goodbye begs an audience, applause, and an encore.
Blogging comes in between "Eat" and "More Sleep" My goal is to provide original,
self produced content.
