I leave broken brush strokes of ice on the palm of cold spoons, swirling the leftover coffee spills once dizzied by the crazy stir of a hand, the lost buzz and pull of the liquid, the whole echo of the cup— it is easy to watch the lips touch the rim, the fingers hug the handle, the eyes close with warmth. Soon the coffee pools at the bottom, cold, placed beside the open sink, sitting by to be washed.
Music Though I don’t know how to play any instrument particularly well, music has become a giant part in my life. There isn’t a day that goes by without my listening to a song or two— I get very particular about what I like and how much I like it. I keep track of my very favorite songs, bands, voices, and even keep certain songs at bay before declaring it a favorite just to make sure that I truly do like it. If this is how silly I get just affirming a favorite song, imagine the emotional turmoil I went through raising one previous favorite band over another— it was rough! Despite the struggles, music keeps my mind working right. It is soothing, inspiring, encouraging, sad, delightful, and so much more. The spectrum is endless. Sometimes it is the lyrics that captivate me— sometimes it is the melody, the harmony, the rhythm, or just the pure emotion I encompass from a song. Music can transform the way a day goes by just listening to the right thing and hearing it speak to you in all the different ways it can. I’ll have little flings with certain songs that I find enjoyable, but these usually only last a small while before I go back to what truly is important to me. Music by its nature makes people listen, which is a great quality to have— it is a beautiful thing to listen to sounds and to hear them for what they are, no matter the genre, style, artist, voice, whatever it is that turns people away, music moves through and transcends these boundaries. It is beneficial to me, at least, no matter my state of mind. I feel it is important to hear a song and really listen to its melodic voice— not to just the lyrics, per say, but any element that reaches through and gives an understanding of oneself or of what is unclear.
Day at the Park
Daisy: "How long have you been up there?" Lena: "What do you mean?" Daisy: "For goodness sake, Lena, how long have you been stuck like this? Lena: "Well, see, that's the funny part, Daisy, because I just don't feel stuck, you know? Hanging here like this is fine, I think. You know, good for the brain to get some blood up there." Daisy: "You're practically flailing. Just let me get your leg from these bars and your arm here-- how'd you get your arm that way?-- and your other leg, here, ugh. I told you not to go around the jungle gym, Lena! Mom would be terrified if she ever saw you like this." Lena: "You know, the clouds look really good from up here. Look-- just by letting my head flop down like this, see?" Daisy: "Oh, gross! Lena! Your head's gonna fall off! Get down from there. How'd you get your leg through here? It's like you don't have a skeleton." Lena: "Ha! I wish! But, you won't tell Mom about this, will ya Daisy? Daisy: "Ugh-- don't look at me that way. Here, jump down. I'll catch you-- good! Dust yourself off a little, would ya? And no, Lena... I won't tell Mom." Lena: "Oh, good!"
Keep hoping, have to run, keep everything, everything, nothing I have is something--
Something: meaningless and perfect. We can't be late to be perfect, to be something.
When is beauty the wall? When is the world a place for perfect people?
Nothing matters— see before you fall away--
see that there is something to find.
3/12/14 11:33am
Love’s Paradelle
Love’s error is in loving; each star a locket Love’s error is in loving; each star a locket Hanging there in sky, transfixed indifference Hanging there in sky, transfixed indifference Love’s locket is hanging there, transfixed in Indifference, loving each star in a sky: error.
In whose handwriting did I get lost in? In whose handwriting did I get lost in? What gentle words linger, kneeling hopefully What gentle words linger, kneeling hopefully I, in lost words, did linger in gentle handwriting-- Get whose kneeling? Hopefully what?
What isn’t known is boredom, searching nothing forever What isn’t known is boredom, searching nothing forever I see passing time as uncut grass, lasting windy gusts I see passing time as uncut grass, lasting windy gusts Nothing is known. Searching windy uncut time, I, as boredom-- Isn’t what gusts forever lasting? See grass passing?
See what windy boredom there is in sky? In each loving linger Known, I get a hanging star. Error, as in forever searching, Passing, hopefully gentle, is handwriting in uncut words. Whose indifference isn’t lasting? Grass gusts— what locket Time transfixed! Lost love’s kneeling! I did nothing!