Sometimes one hits boundaries. I used to be terrible at seeing others, I suppose. I was told that I was by someone who was supposed to know. I don't think that's true, now. But have no way of knowing. That being said, my latest attempt to expand artistically hit quite a few boundaries of innocent people, who will remain nameless here, since I didn't give them that opportunity at my last, manic episode of "performance" Facebook Art.
I will not repeat names who should remain nameless. I have amends to make. I make no excuses, except asking for forgiveness ahead of time. Have mercy. I need so much more sometimes.
Today, I am calmer, and more centered. The dog Max, my little Tater, sleeps on his kennel, that's my new couch to you and me. Georgia is asleep at my head, and Rattie roams the wilds of the apartment that is so sunny.
Scarlett O'Hara once observed that tomorrow is another day, right before her story ended. But I am part of the semicolon project; I have no intention of going anywhere. Here I stand.
*Neil Young
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Sandy Hook
I am the destroyer of worlds. Bhagavad Gita.
Sometimes, when I listen to NPR in the morning, it's too much, so I listen to music. I eat, dance in my living room to K92, and enjoy myself. After all that excitement, I am ready to walk Max, the dog. The light filters into the room of the apartment like new leaves in spring.
I always plant flowers where I go. If I can, and I cannot in this apt. I paint the floors a new green.
The problem with me is: I can't listen to music and write at the same time. Too much for this artist brain to handle.
And I think of all this...and what to press in the hand of the father that I love, when he is dressed, in his very best.
.................................................................................................................................................................
Scent of Smoke
stand waist deep.
the grass moves
slow over plains. my
thoughts move with
you. Always.
I turn to see you.
the fire is coming.
We should have listened.
Shema, Shema.
Sometimes, when I listen to NPR in the morning, it's too much, so I listen to music. I eat, dance in my living room to K92, and enjoy myself. After all that excitement, I am ready to walk Max, the dog. The light filters into the room of the apartment like new leaves in spring.
I always plant flowers where I go. If I can, and I cannot in this apt. I paint the floors a new green.
The problem with me is: I can't listen to music and write at the same time. Too much for this artist brain to handle.
And I think of all this...and what to press in the hand of the father that I love, when he is dressed, in his very best.
.................................................................................................................................................................
Scent of Smoke
stand waist deep.
the grass moves
slow over plains. my
thoughts move with
you. Always.
I turn to see you.
the fire is coming.
We should have listened.
Shema, Shema.
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