An Advent of Sense

Can you honestly tell me that you haven't thought about me at all? Am I actually too illiterate to read the situation at hand? I deplete myself with thoughts of my soul; Do I love too much? Do I still have control? Am I person alone, am I woman or am I seeking man? Have I put you up on a pedestal taught you how to look down from so tall? My intention's aim, my new old friend, is simply to know you; that's all. But simple is fool's gold since you're the most interesting thing I've seen in years. I trust myself, mostly know myself, but don't quite understand all my fears.

I rode the sunset down the coast a skipping stone on the belly of clouds. Didn't expect the ripple effect Can you feel my radial waves? Every stretch of sky I gain reminds me that you ground me. I'm not meant for air I'd rather breathe the forest in with you. Prefer to count sunsets until we see we're looking at the stars. Looking up and forward instead of down and back.     o    o    o    o    o    o I still haven't forgotten about you. I thought that it might happen. So I fly on, ever confused but happy. Waiting to float back to earth.

I:   Absentia             I was in the car driving to the home of a family that I’m very close to, or rather, used to be close to.   They are comprised of thirty-something heterosexual parents of above average intelligence and cultural open-mindedness, a theatrical pre-teen girl and a friendly, flamboyant six-year old boy.   I have been babysitting for them for nearly five years.   I love them.   Although I had made the slow rush hour journey teems of times before, today was different.   The first swipes of a strong hurricane were lashing out above the townspeople’s heads, turning rush hour into an overextended muscle of time.   So much rain, everywhere you looked, that the entire place looked like a submerged post-apocalyptic strip mall.   My spirits were sunny as I mentally prepared for the night’s interactions.   It had been ten months since I last babysat for this family.   ...

It was a fairytale of magnitude contorted in on itself, twisting with glitter and slick with climate-controlled sweat; at once enormous and ephemeral.   That about sums up this week’s Thursday night.               The last few weeks have been a bubbly blur as I descended from the mountaintop experience of the last eight months.   Breakups, travel, explorations of all kind brought me to this series of moments, which can only be described as the transitioning Now.   In the Carroll-esque Wonderland of Now, I’m going to look back at the Wonderland that it Was.   So it goes… Join me every now and again for the episodic Wonderland of Was.   This series will be lucidly lavish chapters of a single night in a week.  

Hours spent discussing our hopes, insecurities and nature You've had friends like this?  My heart screams to you, I'm different I'm not asking for your life Not wanting your all forever Says my objective other half This half begs, love mostly me Be centered, be balanced, be well Live fully with passion and joy See all that your world can offer But maybe...try these things with me? 

This past week has me thinking a lot about taking one's time while working diligently, narrowing focus from big concepts into refined ideas, and how creative process and formal research are indistinguishable practices. I looked through my Adobe Lightroom library for a picture that expressed what I was thinking about and fished the below out of the photo sea. This is a look down the Venetian Grand Canal. It makes me think of floating determinedly into the ideal, not-so distant future. And now that I'm looking so closely at it, it distinctly reminds me of Thomas Cole's Voyage of Life  painting foursome that I saw in D.C. a few years back at the National Gallery of Art. This is one of my favorite American artists and works. Take a look at the Youth  panel below. Interestingly, Cole's Voyager is considered by some to be allegorical for America's journey as a fledgling nation during Manifest Destiny's industrial expansion. 'Interesting' because, it can be...