Wednesday, December 11, 2019

Just An Artist, Walking (Introduction)

I've seen myself as a sage, as a Beatnik poet (arguably the same thing), a hippie, an author, a poet, a folk/punk musician. I've seen myself as a goofball, a mess, a disaster, an asshole.

Really, I'm just an artist, walking. Walking through life. I've learned that running and standing still don't work so well, but when we walk, everything tends to work out. John Lennon said something to that effect.

i want to be an artist, i want to see the world as wet paint, i want the soul and the feelings to sing out of everything. i don't particularly want this blog to be one of great intellectuality, because i've done that too, but this is more about delving through the layers of the soul and celebrating the meaning--or rather, the 'meaningfulness'--of life.

There is one particular goal in my mind of all of this: to return to my universe the wonder, awe, and beauty I used to associate with simply being alive. How? Just by giving voice to my poetic voice, sight to my photographic eye, and song to my artistic vision. Yes, it is oh-so-much an artistic crush I have on life, but it also is a spiritual crush. Somewhere between the form and the formless is where artists reside, where art exists: a sculpture is just shaped rock, but what it evokes is something transcendental.

Life lives and breathes. Beauty exudes in my honey darling’s smiling lips and eyes when I reach in to kiss her. Life lives and breathes and I want to record this bounty I’ve stumbled upon.

Amen. Selah. Namaste. Cheers.

Thursday, November 28, 2019

So the story

I met her after a friend broke up with her, so I could pick up his harmonicas. And we just fell so soft and well and still are.

Nine days later I grab a cigarette to step outside and smoke. ‘Would you like to share a cigarette with me?’ I ask.

‘I love sharing things with you!’ She responded.

‘Well, then you’ll have to share my life with me!’ And I put the cigarette between my lips, figuring that’s that.

‘Did you just propose to me?’

Deer-In-The-Headlights, jaw drops, cigarette falls out of my mouth and bounces on the floor. A voice in my head says, "HEY! We need you at the helm for this one!"

‘Well, I didn’t realize that was what I was saying but...yes!’

‘Alright!’

—-

Our love has been so blessed it’s surreal. She has a four year old son. He’s great! I think he speaks Simoleon, the language of The Sims.

And that’s that. Huzzah!