in this place of magic
multicolored fabric cover the walls, hanging over like a blanket of stars
a white rat named hoocoola scurries to your ear, as if trying to tell you one of lifes secrets.
listen. wish. take in the beauty.
Driving down a dark highway, she likes her michael buble loud - she sings
She spots an obstruction. Mcdonalds bag?
Felling dangerous she accelerates
The bag spins around. glowing eyes in the headlights, two perfectly round circles that resemble amber half moons
vroom.
**A sad but true story about my roommate running over an owl on the highway, too bad those little buggers are endangered!
She was a free spirit.
Never sitting down, and letting the wind carry her to souls that needed lifting
She saved me once. with Her smile
in what seemed like the world apocalypse covered in zombies
She was there
with Her bazooka filled with hope. She killed those mother fuckers
She played hard, but worked harder
to better Herself. to better the world.
the day things stop making sense is the day when everything will become clear, releasing me from this cookie cutter box. irrationality will manifest within my soul, my internal compass will malfunction, pointing off course; teaching me the carefree way of absurdity, and the silliness of being a fool. the gibberish in my ear will be accompanied by a beautiful coo, as i will finally speak a language free of clarity, yet full of passion. the day things stop making sense, i will also lose all sense of inhibitions, and be free to imagine. then, i can do anything.
*this is a work in process. after having a motivating conversation today, i was left with a great epiphany. horrible grammar, and no effort to hit the ‘shift’ key is prevalent in this piece. however… maybe thats the key i’ve been searching for.
all along.
There once was a turtle named Mel
who wanted to get a new shell
she went to the sea
and there she found three
all of them fit very well
People have always resembled turtles to me. Just the way that everyone has their secrets, and different personalities and comfort areas.
The idea of finding a new shell stems from venturing off in search of independence in the world.
… things just got serious
Serious question: how does one train themselves to write on command?
Personally, I can only write when I’m outside in the sun or while bribing myself with timbits… both simultaneously have proven most effective ;)
Often times I find myself becoming super inspired about an idea while driving, or at work. By the time I get to a place to write it down.. poof it’s gone
As mean as it is to hope other people go through this… I’m sure it happens.
let’s all scream in frustration together
” RAAAAAH “
the lights and sounds overwhelm you
love fills your heart
love fills your mind
your legs are dancing?
can’t stop dancing
weak to the beat
heather is a beautiful creature
with saucer eyes
she talks of water
water is great!
your mind wanders
legs wobble
there’s a song in there, a musician once said
somewhere, somewhere in everything.
it’s a kaleidoscope of colors that maps our path as eternal beings
deep down. in the abstract of our souls
the ecstasy of nature -
Mike loves his dog teddy.
cradled in his lap, like a small child suspended from reality,
he tells stories of astrology. and the beauty of the morning sun.
Looking upward only fragments of pale blue can be seen
thorough the kaleidoscope of tree branches.
the world stands still.
So I left last class feeling extremely inspired after being showed those short stories by Lydia Davis. I took my notebook, sat in the sun, and bumped some rad tunes.
The following few posts are what I came up with. Looking at them now, they seem to make less sense, but I`m not much of a reviser so.. what the heck :)
