A Journal of Sorts
weaving a web of fantasies your words are calling out to me the flash of eyes a smile, a pout drawing me in drawing me out browsing more these days, I am finding some writings I can relate to, some words demanding my attention, some images making me hungry... I know what it is like to feel, meerly by reading and viewing someone's creative efforts, stripped naked in from of a computer screen... the internet has become a home museum reflecting our culture in almost every way possible... professionally, personally, creatively... the real and the fantasy... from mind expanding fiction to heart challenging personal journals, the human library comes home... the human museum lives on my computer screen... and still, my hand longs to be held... my heart longs to feel another heart beating in rhythm... my lips long to kiss... my soul (or whatever we shall call the ethereal anima spiritual entity that represents all of me today) longs to share... and the creative muses long to collaborate... to merge... and yet... so far, I prefer to work alone, yet I live to share everything... it may be cuz I haven't found the right partner yet... there may be many reasons only the right partner might find with me... I sometimes thing I left the best part of my heart behind in a stairway in high school (but that's another story written long ago when someone left the cake out in the rain)... I want someone who wants to read every word I've ever written (since I tend to write a lot, some might say I live through words) and who lives to know every nuance of me... so far, that has been too much to ask... alas... I still want... and while my actions have slowed to molasses, my heart still tends to be way too impulsive for my own good... even right here on the web... and why not... I've been sharing through words all through this life... penpalling through snail mail before the net... and remembering all the stamps... thousands of dollars worth, but the monetary value is meaningless for the true value was that my creative muses chose ever stamp for specific reasons and now, along with the rest of what little true value I created and accumulated in this life, it's still gone... and it's always on my mind, always a distraction, always eating away... will she ever return with an explanation?... will she ever follow through on her promise to return the things?... will she ever take the knives out of my heart?... out of my eyes?... will she ever tell the truth and act upon it?... maybe she did, when she said there was no one inside and all she knew how to do was use and abuse people... the worst of it all is that I've fallen into the trap of wondering if anyone can ever be trusted... that is devastating to one who lives to share... she is an artist at damaging people she loves... and she was met through words, through snail mail... no wonder I hesistate to truly get into correspondence again?... safe, here in my letters to the world, these web journals, letters to strangers, and the written gardens, am I creating anything worthwhile?... am I meeting anyone?... I keep trying, but I wonder, is my heart really in it or am I still too afraid of being burned again (or too afraid I've lost too much to be whole, strong, secure, and worth sharing?)... chilling questions... and yet, I keep reaching out... . o O ( shifting gears, for lament leads to loneliness ) O o . I am trying to trust, to believe in people again... so here, as proof (and even more, in the hope you might offer some feedback or maybe even like me), taste a bit of a hello recently inspired by a few minutes browsing someone's words on the web and see what I mean (maybe, but then, this slice is out of context and more for titilation or temptation {or is it bait} than a full picture of anything)... continue with your journey if mine is not for you, but if we wander along similar enough paths for similar enough reasons inspired by similar enough things, then please share something so I know too... . o O ( falling in here... or was it here ) O o . . o O ( the first words drew me in, the second Libbo pushed ) O o . |
before I decide whether I am in love with you or not (welcome to my world of irreverent opening lines... as a writer, I suppose it could be called my style... but babbler {especially in parenthetic tangents} is much more apt to be the label that lingers longest... anyway, back to the point, or at least one of them), I wanted to join your destiny list but the link wouldn't connect tonight... so I'll fall in love with you anyway. ok, seriously (who said I wasn't?)... I want to find time to read your entire site, every word (that's impressive and if you get to know me, you'll know it too... not that I'm all so important, but cuz my attention span is about as brief as a shooting star these days for many reasons {and not all of them wonderful} so the fact that you've inspired me to write this and have me wishing you were here in Orlando is a very wonderful thing... hope you don't mind if I thank you profusely {I'll try not to worship you, unless, of course, it becomes mutual}... I seem to want to know all of you)... maybe when I get a grown-up computer (I live in an old baby laptop without printer or RW-CD and have little online time) I'll print out everything and spend my nights reading you between other authors... so keep writing, you have fans out here (and just claimed another) *excited smile* . o O ( pondering stare ) O o . in actuality, if you were here, I would not speak at first... I would reach out and take your hand and ask you, without words, what you were feeling... if the feeling was an embrace and mutual, I would ask you to lead us wherever the next few hours might take us... your lead, your choices telling me more about what we could be than anything I could do and in each moment, I would offer as much or as little feedback as you wished, in the manner you sought it... and if we met through moments of words or music or sensuality or even food or story, we could become whatever we wanted... we could discuss limits, or we could just set them... or we could share without them... |
. o O ( we leave the fantasy now for other planes of existence ) O o . and after some time the relative factor in written words since you most likely read all of these words in consecutive moments when the writing might have been spread over widely disconnected moments and yet, sometimes the most abstractly connected pieces come together to create a work of art with such contuity it seems unbelievable that the whole of the work was not created in one fell swoop of artistic genius... not to suggest any of that is here) J of course if you like anything you see, I'd love to know J some truth some fantasy which is more real inside of me only I know what can you see? I'm naked but you don't know me some fun some misery which is more real inside of me only I know what it feels like and only you know yourself did you expect a rhyme? well is it such a crime to cry sloppy words for a change? it's all just a fool's game and nobody's to blame so why do you look so strange? you're overly concerned? you're totally confused? or maybe you just couldn't care less nothing is perfect nothing is free especially not happiness so if you follow me along my trail of words you may drawn in a river of tears and you may get lost in overgrown gardens jungles have swallows some years but if you dare to rise with the sun in your eyes the moon will reflect your hopes and fears and maybe we will share and maybe we will care and maybe as the way ahead clears we'll find some truth some fantasy maybe it is just as it appears J |
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work, local radio A Relic Of The Empire by Larry Niven Hooters grilled chicken salad, appetizer sampler nocturna wantlist READ DISCLAIMER oddly, I still love her noctura art |
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