About Me

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I want the world to make sense. I try to make it my life's goal to connect to every living thing I meet, whether it has two legs, four legs, or chlorophyll for arms. Love in all its forms is a constant chase for me and as Robert Browning said " it takes up one's life, thats all." I am often Nostalgia's Nightingale and live in memories of the past, but I know my future is radiant. Tear drops are sweet to me and seem to follow my countenance on sad days, but I love to laugh. Were the world mine... we would never grow old and we would all kiss when greeting a friend. All writings are my own so you will find comma splices and many run on sentences. The pictures have been taken by my dear friend Isabel Turley . One of the most brilliant and beautiful girls I know. Thankyou and I hope you enjoy.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Song of the States


Once it was Solid, like a lumberjack's home, newly built from carefully cut pieces of cherry wood surrounded in sylvan vernacular. And when it was solid, it was bold. And when it was solid it was warm, it was sun, hot, burning gold, and every care inside that house was fullfilled, carried out, brought into the sun to be made ripe. When it was solid. Small animals thought it a fit place to start their families. Small birds nesting on the window sill and benevolent ants scampering around the kitchen floor eating their small content little appetites out. When it was solid, it was strong, seemingly insuperable, suspiciously joyous. When it was solid, it was real. It was sanity, but better than sanity, it was insanity. When it was solid, contradictions made sense. When it was solid it was solid, and boy did it breathe, and boy did it flourish, and boy was I solid, and boy did I breathe, and boy did I flourish. 



But then it was liquid, like murky lake water too dark for any live thing to have a sense of where to swim.

And when it was liquid it was gossamer,
                                                   thin,
                                                        slipping at the ends of my fingertips.
When it was liquid, it was hell spilling on to land. When it was liquid there was drowning. And when it was liquid there sinking. When it was liquid it was frightening, violent, torrential, wild, fierce, cold, wet, chaotic, Odyesseus caught by Scilla on Poiseodens vengeful seas.

When it was liquid it was gas muddy,
                                             brown,
                                                unrecognizable and every morning brought a new stormcloud over our heads and every stormcloud brought rain down from Heaven, but this rain was not clear or pure, it was poison. But worse than poison it was Time. When it was liquid I lost what yearnings to write. When it was liquid it was liquid, and boy did it sting, and boy did it hurt. and boy was I liquid, and boy did I sting, and boy did I hurt.



And then it was Gas,  spaces and spaces of escaping gas rushing out of some silly blown up raft.

And when it was gas it was nothing, no more, oblivion whistling air into a void unfullfilled.

When it was gas it ceased to exist.

And when it was gas we were hardly there.

And when it was gas we could hardly taste.

When it was gas, nothing could be felt or seen.

When it was gas the animals no longer felt safe and no longer felt warm and no longer felt burning gold.

When it was gas it was no longer solid.

And when it was gas, it was no longer liquid.

And when it was gas, it was no longer anything.

When it was gas we could no longer laugh, breathe, walk about, drive around.

When it was gas it was worse than afraid, worse than death, worse than fear, worse than blood, worse than poverty.

It was silence.

And when it was gas, silence was more painful than calamity.

When it was gas, silence was calamity.

When it was gas, it was gas, and boy did it doubt, and boy was it empty, and boy was I gas, and boy did I doubt, and boy was I empty.

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