This one’s a keeper :}

 

10 West

If I could I’d own a well-built jalopy. With strong doors to withstand the center divider. Its color would be scrapes of paint from half-conscious nights from when I, a graceful lady and a few steadfast lads would approach a shoulder and meander through small valleys fathered by quaint hills and green swells that are read by coy trails that are merely sweet nothings of an ever expanding path of Californian bliss. 

 

{homeward bound from Joshua Tree. March 19, 2010}

Tranquilo

With expression we write our biographies, and our prayers. Paint and draw our ideals and our fears, play and record our whispers and screams however vocal or internal. Visceral is the paint that drips from a brush on to canvas and desperate are the words that spill from our mind through pen and ink onto paper.

Above all we are driven to create our own cures; those that soothe or instill what we may lack at any given point in our lives.

3 March 2010

I feel in love.