Let the music
echo along your inner ear;
let it travel
down the corridor of your mind.
Let the color of the sound
seep down your spine,
branch out through your limbs,
down your hands,
then shoot out
the ends of your fingertips.
Didn’t you realize that all the world
was playing outside your window
while you were in bed?
Didn’t you realize
that so many other beautiful things
were crying out for help?
Didn’t you realize
that all you did
would come to nothing?
And yet, perhaps you did.
And yet, perhaps still you built.
Sing strong.
In your own voice;
be it quiet or loud,
sweet, or coarse.
Sing strong.
With your own words;
saying what you mean,
and meaning what you say.
Sing strong.
For they listen
not to your voice,
nor to your words,
but to how strong
you dare to sing.
I ache.
Every heartbeat aches.
– For every landscape,
every color,
every curve.
Your beauty, world,
is a mirror that reflects my brevity.
My smallness.
Your beauty reminds me
that I am a nothing.
Art is an itch.
An endless itch.
Not good. Not evil.
An appetite
for colors, melodies, moods.
Enflamed, we scratch,
reaching for the nameless spot.
Allow yourself to merge;
to be pulled by the slipstream;
where ice cream gets its taste
and the dawn is stored at night;
where every memory and every experience,
is stored and kept in bottles;
where blue was introduced to red,
and together they bore purple.
where every taste is tested;
where children keep their secrets.
Where sunshine keeps its warmth;
where candy keeps its sweetness;
where old men keep the fuzzy-greyness of their socks.
where lovers meet in daydreams;
where the silhouttes of trees are drawn.
Some dance in dark rooms,
rhythms surging through veins.
Others jog in bright morning sunlight,
sneakers slapping on pavement.
Others sit in old-smelling airchairs,
reading page after page.
Others paint, write, sculpt, draw.
Others work, and work, and work.
Intoxication: forgetting the self:
The idea. The burden.
Finding a way to merge with the moment.
with This.
Creativity has the appearance
of intention, will, and self-determination.
But creativity is about openness;
letting go of intention, will, and self-determination;
aligning yourself with something beyond yourself.
This is why if you try to be creative,
you will never be creative.
Just as if you try to be funny,
you will never be funny.
Whereas if you simply pay attention to things:
you will become creative and funny.
Artists tie the ribbon
on a gift, handed, already wrapped.
– They dip a cup into a stream.
– They name the bird
that landed on their shoulder.
Nothing more.
Every one of us gets the choice
to interpret “This all”:
Life.
Is Life a comedy?
A drama?
A horror?
A love story?
However you see it,
so will you experience it;
some live in dramas;
others in horrors;
others in love stories.
And yet somehow,
all of these stories coexist
in the same time and space.
All of us, living out our lives
in one overarching Story;
the sum of all our stories.
What is Life?