Monday, June 29, 2009

its a beautiful new day

"balloons" (found photograph)
keep art alive; artist unknown

"hey you with the pretty face,
welcome to the human race,
a celebration,
mister blue sky's up there waitin',
and today is the day we've waited for."

it could be the after effect from being sick for so many days, but when i first glanced out my kitchen window i was taken aback by how beautiful the sky looked. i'm not completely well, and there are things that are looming on my own horizon that feel weighted and almost dire, but i still awoke with that light and floating feeling that could be described as hope.

although i am no fan of summertime heat, there is something to say about a predominately clear sky, dotted with a few billowy clouds, and the sun shining brightly that does lift one's spirit. it feels like a jolt to the system, a weather-induced caffeine lift; it felt today as if someone had cleared my eyes for me, and gave me a friendly nudge.

perhaps the sun is what i needed today, the somewhat clear skies (well, this is los angeles, after all), and a well-received good morning. my creative tendencies, and heart's preferences, reside in autumn weather and overcast, rainy days; in those days i feel like singing, dancing, writing, talking for hours, in those days i feel most like myself. but sometimes, even a cold weather soul needs a little visit from mister sun.

"people are like stained-glass windows. they sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within."

~ elisabeth kubler-ross

Saturday, June 27, 2009

your life is just some stupid story

"untitled" (found photograph)
keep art alive ~ artist unknown

"we never know what it is we’ve got,
until the cold city wind blows it all in our face,
with a humbling disgrace.

how do you deal with a story like this?
we’re writing our names in the lives,
of the ones we miss."

you've changed (video) ~ bettie serveert

i have been pondering over city street maps, spreading them out on the floor, tracing the street corners and intersections with my fingertips. there are coffee spilled stains at spots that may have marked a historical marker, or some kind of set in the middle of traffic city park. i don't mind though, i think the signs that something has been touched are often the most beautiful.

i dream of those city streets almost every night.

it is almost as if i'm missing something i've yet to know. or, perhaps i have known this, somewhere in the back pages of my own scrawled story. some days i'm not even sure why i keep writing it, singing it, sharing it - some days i feel so lost in the crowd of everyone, and no one - some days i feel so invisible.

this morning, with my cup of coffee in hand, i can't help but wish i was on one of those stained spots in a city somewhere.