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.

To you, you, you, and you

I give all of my love

I give all of my love

I give all of my love

I give all of my love

.

My own advice to myself

I try and be the best that I can be. I truly aspire in every sense.

But I need to give myself more credit.

 

I’m patting myself on the back from now on.

Bitches are still objects

As a child- a very young one at that- I used to sit in the shower and imagine that the world was full of dominant beasts pushing me down. I developed a complex form of inferiority. I grew to adopt this expectancy of oppression and began thinking of the futility of living in a world like this. But this was all imagined. I was always troubled by a world that was never present- one that I had projected.

As a pre-pubescent and adolescent I imagined the dark world of adulthood. The weighty problems of being over 20 and able to bring life into the world. The complex issues that these individuals go through caused me grief to say the least. The sticky, dry, overly-sophisticated and political laws of love at this age baffled me. These archetypes lived as dark shadows and mysterious unfinished-unresolved stories in the back of my mind.

I imagined the tenacious grasp of true addiction among a lost 25 year old. A desperately lonely twenty-something female. The hopeless romantic. The depressive girl, the stoned couch-potato, the still undecided grown boys and girls. Above all: the let-go.

I’ve seen the alpha male in all stages. The most dominant in the physical, mental, emotional, spiritual.

Bitches will follow the most dominant.

I’ve been torn down by the fear of unconscious live-ers.

I’ve feared a world that does not exist.

I’ve surpassed all that exists on real-time.

I have sharpened my sword in preparation of a battle too large to be actual.

Real opponents cannot compare to my imagined foes.

The Real world is full of dominant beasts that cannot push me down. I am above them.

They may pull but will never succeed to submerge.

Let the whole world know my name.