This constant pull and push game I play with my brain, is like my own personal entertainment. Sometime I truly feel bigger then my body, I look back on my memories as if I am watching a cold outsider, watching a little girl chase her dreams like a dog chasing her tail. Chase her heart, as a kite trying to fly on a not so windy afternoon. Listen to her head, as if it is the president of my own society that I live apart of. We're all just learning to get by. My dreams seem so big and huge for such a little girl to reach, they are messes of libraries, everyone stored away like an antique book, each with a master story line that runs on and on, with not so happy endings; but at least there are endings. Unopened ones, one that I have read a thousand times, classics, history, science-fiction, fantasy, epic love stories, collections of poetry that I can read a million times but depending on what is going on in my life I inhale is like a new plate every time. My brain can't be compared to an industrial factory; it is more like a library. Unorganized, out of alphabetical order because I have never been a clean fellow. Maybe thats why literature, writings, any collections of thought sings to me every time because truthfully I am just like a story. I am just like a novel. I am just like a collection of short stories. I am this blog, this is my story. But truthfully, will anybody ever hear my story? I think no matter what I get out, my story is my own and unexplainable. When an author writes a story, you read it and it comes to life in your head you wonder what did this tale spark from; fiction or non fiction. Where did it all begin? The beginning to me, is the best part.
I have found constant, in a life full of motion. Whether I go to my West Coast apartment, and live a fast passed life with a cup of coffee each morning and tired feet and mind at the end of a closing day. The town where rock n' roll was built, or the place where fashion is uprising. I am in motion. My constants remain women. These women I am building a bed of memories to lay my old head on. I keep pictures and pictures, and diaries and diaries, I receive and give advice to these leading ladies in my life. They all are so exquisite and unsettled and little balls of fire, that I am taught to fire up and keep on trucking because of them. We are a bit crazy, a bit naive, careless at times, lost and found but together the bonds we have are one of a kind and something I wake up in the morning and call my own.
I'm a stem now
Pushing the drought aside
Opening up
Fanning my yellow eye
On the ferry
That's making the waves wave
Illumination
This is how my heart behaves
-Feist (how my heart behaves)
My wings are spreading.
Open wide, all depending
on if you will ride with me
into the dark blue sea
to feel no pain, forget her name
alone just you, me, and your shame.
-Lyn Anne Bassen
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