Konstant Be

Forget to grab my cell phone on the way out the door this morning. So, I didn't have it all day. It felt good.

do not be the tree be the leaves do not be afraid to change colors just don't fall

They say that we never actually touch. That's it's all electron repulsion and energy between us. But... i want to believe that we touch that we defy physics and your skin is right next to mine i want to be close to you like driving with my left hand so just I can hold yours with my right close like studying under two yoga instructors and a contortionist just so when we cuddle i can wrap around you because spooning just isn't cutting it anymore close like posing difficult questions to your legs so i can force them to make a split decision close like silly putty i want to stick you and leave an impression of your soul on my body i'm trying to be more than close to you i want to be your smoke breaks at work, correction i want to be the smoke you inhale your nicotine, give me time, I'm working out how to fit my love into packs for your purse i'm trying to glide across your body like rain streaking across car windows i want to be the lick

So, yesterday I fell off a truck. All day we were moving the old shop to the new shop. Gus ordered a big flat bed truck with a lift gate to move all the heavy equipment. Everything was going as well as possible considering all the stuff Gus has. He'd been living and doing art shows and events in the old shop for about ten years so of course he's accumulated a lot of stuff. He's an artist so being an artist myself I know how random things that others might throw away turn into, as Anjela put it, "supplies". I call it 'pack rack syndrome'. It'll be in the DSM soon, trust me. Anyway, Gus is also a wood worker so in addition to art he's accumulated, there was a lot solid wood which can be heavy. All that considered, it was still relatively smooth move. We loaded up the truck to the brim and rolled over the new place and unloaded. Unloaded takes considerably less time than loading. After we unloaded, we headed back to the old shop. We started the ro

So, I'm trying to work on a poem. I would say a new poem but it doesn't really feel new. I've been looking over a lot of my poetry and trying to find the meaning and the themes within my own words. I'm discovering that I'm sometimes in-congruent (no surprise) and that some parts of poems would fit together better with other parts of poems I've written. So, I'm combining poems to create new ones. I don't know how I feel about this exactly... I have a feeling of sacredness to some of my poems, like I'm infringing on the words of my younger self. But, I'm seeing some of my poetry in a new light. And I'm writing...which is never a bad thing. And yet, there's still so much writing to be done. I haven't worked on a story in ages and my journal is beginning to grow dust. I suppose I just need to make an effort, as always. :)

Everything feels so fluid. I feel as if I'm in the middle of whitewater rapids, standing. As if I'm just standing there, muscles tight and twitching; standing against this great force of nature. The water swirls and crashes all about me. It's so hard to think. My thoughts feel like the rapids. Attempting to hold onto a single thought is like trying to hold the nature that surrounds me. But there I am, standing against. I don't know if I should move. I'm afraid to take a step. I'm afraid to even unclench a single finger. And I don't know if it's out fear that once I let go, once I let my muscles relax, once I take the first step that I will be swept away. Or if fear that once I try to move, that I'll continue to stand against the flow.

Everything is being drawn to doubt now. Everything requires evaluation. I have to write it all down. Which is what I should have done long before.

Why does doing the right thing hurt so bad?

Life feels itself. I didn't understand this line when I first heard it. I've thought this line a bit since I've first heard. I think I may have a slight grasp on the idea. Just as much as I can claim to feel life, life feels itself. It is aware, in sense . Life is alive. Life breathes and moves and thinks just as I do. It is unique as I. It has it's own desires and dislikes, it's own personality so to speak. It loves. And it feels pain. This life can hurt. But this life has purpose, a flow, a rhyme and reason like the tide. It knows what's important; what's significant. It is ever moving like a creature on to itself. I must care for my life. I must be cognizant of what it desires for me. I must be aware of how life feels because life feels itself. But it also feels me.

Preview of what I've been working on. :)

As Dilla would say, rest his talented soul, I'm 'workin' on it'.

What better way to start the day than with tasty pomegranate seeds. I love these things. Full of juice and such vibrant color. I don't know whether to paint them or eat (maybe I'll do both). Plopped a few of these in the "magic bullet" and blended them up. The only problem is the hard seeds inside, hard to drink it with a zillion hard bits in it. Here's a true story, when I first got a pomegranate I had no idea how to eat it. So, I said "hey, it's a fruit, so I'll just treat it like any fruit I know." Which means I took a big bite of the pomegranate. No fun. No fun at all.

My body wants to sleep but my heart won't let me.