The Color Of The Sound

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.

The Color of The Sound

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Roark

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

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.

Write!

Every one of us is handed a pen;
and that pen is our will.

Every one of us is handed a page;
and that page is our life.

The only sin in life is not to write.
– To fear too much of making a mistake,
that we never dare to try.

Write!

write

Slipstream

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.

slipstream

Eye Of The Storm

You see, feel,
the chaos.

But do not fear it.

Draw the force of your song;
the life of your dance,
from the storm.

Listen for those Whispers
caught up in the noise.

Channel the swirl of the chaos,
make it serve you.

Let that eye,
the dead-calm center,
be the cradle of your mind.

eye of the storm

Intoxication

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.

intoxicated

Creativity

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.

creativity

Piano

A child watched his father play
a beautiful melody on the piano.

After his father had left,
the child climbed the bench,
began to strike the notes
he had seen his father play.

To his surprise,
although he struck the same notes,
no music came,
only noise.

piano

Story

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?

3 story

An Act of Faith

Every paint stroke
suggests the next paint stroke.

Every word
suggests the next word.

Every note
suggests the next note.

Creating is an act of faith;
never knowing what will come next,
one follows the paint;
follows the words,
follows the notes.
Trusting, hoping, believing.

blind faith

This Moment

This moment,
pregnant with possibility,
is set before you
like a story, half-written.

The next sentence
longs to be born;
its heartbeat quickens,
ready to burst through.

The twist,
the unexpected child;
about to change the meaning
of everything that came before.

newborn

What Did You Play?

What did you play?
-Alone in your room,
suffocating on silence.

Not playing,
but praying.

You were made for one thing:
music.
You sacrificed everything.

I want to listen
not to your symphonies or sonnattas,
but to your maddened prayer.

Alone in your room,
silently suffocating:
what did you play?

beethoven