Just...

Complaining is an act which makes me feel guilty... and I try not to focus on the negative so much in my life so that those complainy feelings are usually very short lived anyway. Today was really rough on me in some aspects, but as I walked the street up to my white picket fence, smelling the insane scents of blooming California roses, I forgot why I wanted so badly ten minutes prior to burst into tears. 

I'm fine.

That's nice to just acknowledge sometimes.

There was something insane about the carpet floor, about the way you said her name, about how softer the world seemed when we were able to look one another in the eyes, for the first time, as friends. And I'm just grateful for the grace of forgiveness. Not only toward you, but the way I felt as if I'd forgiven myself, something I could not know how to do without you. The world, even softer still, growing soft and soft and cotton and clouds. I'm happy. This is something I need to accept.

And there was something about the time of night, my new "you" pushing my back along the hardwood, our lips holding back stifled laughter, and the music playing, and the look in your eyes, and knowing I love you. The way you say my name and the way you ask me questions. Something about how you are Something, my George Harrison, about the way you move me, about the way I push back and you don't let me, about toast and chirping birds and a really well formed sentence and seeing and old friend and a perfect frame for an okay picture and the way my handwriting looks right after I wake up and the day you can finally just leave your window open. This is what you are for me.

My heart moves fast and with you even faster, and you gave this to me, this ability to open it. Because it's never been quite this way, I still am constantly fumbling to figure how to be this way, how to enjoy without question, just how to come up and meet you for air at a normal person's requirement. You are teaching me how to breathe... but I'm a stubborn student. Learning to "let go" is something that makes me very nervous. But, for you,  I'll try.

"I respect you for challenging me." ... Marilyn Manson said this in an interview I was randomly watching and I loved how he put this. Dita Von Teese was the featured guest on Love Line last night and I ended up just researching her all night and that inevitably lead to me looking into Marilyn Manson interviews... wacked out night, but in a good way. Interesting cats, no doubt.

Anyway, rando shoutout to this fantastic makeup artist, because of a completely non-makeup-related video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8rVg3mT7Y8&feature=g-all-u&context=G2b9669fFAAAAAAAAVAA I loved this.

I will show ya

I'm not sure if it's just the time of year, that time when I can't produce because I'm too engulfed in the real world... I remember Paul in the living room saying "depressed people simply have more time," a great truth in this world I think. But also, my mentor once told me, you don't need a crutch, a disease, a grand problem, or a drink to be a great artist. In fact, if you do need those things, you're probably not. I don't know quite what I think of it all but this is my art: the way I move my arms when chasing seagulls, the way I'm so desperate to smell the sky.

The art I have is living, no way for me to stop and sit down most of the time. Truth is, great talent isn't the same thing as art. I want nothing to do with writing or sharing my stories, most of the time. I want to be able to have a real conversation about the heart of life with people, engage in how wild the little things really are, pet a kitten, cry over a not-even-that-sad thing. I just want to continue feeling something grander than how things are. Is that an art?