doubt will sicken the mind
and arrest the soul
29.3.11
24.3.11
dream catcher, who are you?
I went to see the dark owl who spins my symbols into being
You can have anything you want, he tells me
Silent friend, who are you? You're so intimately woven into my childs fog
One circular bullseye marking, making, leaving itself inside my consciousness
From a place within something screams, "Relieve me!"
and so I do and while I watch it fall I smile
Rotating, expecting the ever present memory of gravity
yet, I have to grasp towards the sky for my soul
Now I am here
My feet leaving their impression in the earth, I dance to the vibration of your slow drum
You can have anything you want, he tells me
Silent friend, who are you? You're so intimately woven into my childs fog
One circular bullseye marking, making, leaving itself inside my consciousness
From a place within something screams, "Relieve me!"
and so I do and while I watch it fall I smile
Rotating, expecting the ever present memory of gravity
yet, I have to grasp towards the sky for my soul
Now I am here
My feet leaving their impression in the earth, I dance to the vibration of your slow drum
2.3.11
28.2.11
feelings right now
"cause i built you a home in my heart,
with rotten wood, it decayed from the start"
-ben gibbard
with rotten wood, it decayed from the start"
-ben gibbard
27.2.11
25.2.11
22.2.11
silvi
a special poem written for me by a favorite poet of mine. take a second to look at her work: thepoetrystore.net
looking
to go forth and continue
finding, you must know
that who you are is
who you have always been because
like the light
over this horizon
you are always
changing,
staying the same,
making your way
toward the infinite.
looking
to go forth and continue
finding, you must know
that who you are is
who you have always been because
like the light
over this horizon
you are always
changing,
staying the same,
making your way
toward the infinite.
15.2.11
14.2.11
26.1.11
uplift me
Recent events have left me, at times, feeling like an indescribable weight has pounded my spine down to nothing but bone to bone. No space. Rigidity and heaviness loomed in the months that passed.
I started searching for ways to remedy this state I was beginning to worry was permanent. What I found along the way was that no state is fixed, if you allow yourself to explore the varied nature of your experience. I had pushed so hard against the pain, that I had allowed it to build up, becoming an all encompassing force in my life.
I began writing everyday.
I found a theme throughout my growing collection of writings-- they were more often than not reflection on lyrics that resonated with me or pictures/descriptions of live music experiences that had left me feeling something. I noticed that when I became most at ease was when I was writing about my experiences and connections to music.
This is not unique, I am fully aware. But because I loathed the idea of a diary I had never had a place that held my writings neatly together. I was beginning to notice how all encompassing music had become in my life.
Something as simple as a black bound notebook brought to light what I needed.
The lyrics of Zach Rogue come to mind, "The music that I want, is cheaper than therapy"
I have been to many shows in the past year, all have left me with a high untouchable by any substance.
The last show I attended was particularly inspiring. I left unable to stop contemplating UP. The catchy opening song of the GIVERS rang through my head non stop over the next few days. Uplift. That was the perfect word to describe the sensation I feel while being in the presence of keys, strings, melodies, and particularly mesmerising percussion--it was as though my vertebrae had been infused with milky way goodness that expanded to allow for all the space their little bones hearts could ever desire.
I started searching for ways to remedy this state I was beginning to worry was permanent. What I found along the way was that no state is fixed, if you allow yourself to explore the varied nature of your experience. I had pushed so hard against the pain, that I had allowed it to build up, becoming an all encompassing force in my life.
I began writing everyday.
I found a theme throughout my growing collection of writings-- they were more often than not reflection on lyrics that resonated with me or pictures/descriptions of live music experiences that had left me feeling something. I noticed that when I became most at ease was when I was writing about my experiences and connections to music.
This is not unique, I am fully aware. But because I loathed the idea of a diary I had never had a place that held my writings neatly together. I was beginning to notice how all encompassing music had become in my life.
Something as simple as a black bound notebook brought to light what I needed.
The lyrics of Zach Rogue come to mind, "The music that I want, is cheaper than therapy"
I have been to many shows in the past year, all have left me with a high untouchable by any substance.
The last show I attended was particularly inspiring. I left unable to stop contemplating UP. The catchy opening song of the GIVERS rang through my head non stop over the next few days. Uplift. That was the perfect word to describe the sensation I feel while being in the presence of keys, strings, melodies, and particularly mesmerising percussion--it was as though my vertebrae had been infused with milky way goodness that expanded to allow for all the space their little bones hearts could ever desire.
21.1.11
19.1.11
mud
palms grip moss.
I balance atop a jagged rock. my feet slosh through the mud making a sound that I make note to remember because it puts a strangely euphoric smile on my face, like its promising to leave its muddy residue all day long.
Its mucky, but I like it. Its a residue that says, "I have been some place beautiful."
I take a seat on the bench that holds many memories. Not in a sentimental mood, I focus on anything but those memories. I stare at the dry branches of the trees overlooking the city. These branches resemble disfigured arms- they are strangely beautiful to me. They make me think of the dozens of aspects of our being, some are not pretty, some are smooth and inviting, some are strong and welcome support, some snap off when they are no longer useful- if we let them. But nonetheless these aspects are rooted, over years and years, not going anywhere-- unless you let someone cut them down
but that choice is yours.
I balance atop a jagged rock. my feet slosh through the mud making a sound that I make note to remember because it puts a strangely euphoric smile on my face, like its promising to leave its muddy residue all day long.
Its mucky, but I like it. Its a residue that says, "I have been some place beautiful."
I take a seat on the bench that holds many memories. Not in a sentimental mood, I focus on anything but those memories. I stare at the dry branches of the trees overlooking the city. These branches resemble disfigured arms- they are strangely beautiful to me. They make me think of the dozens of aspects of our being, some are not pretty, some are smooth and inviting, some are strong and welcome support, some snap off when they are no longer useful- if we let them. But nonetheless these aspects are rooted, over years and years, not going anywhere-- unless you let someone cut them down
but that choice is yours.
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