Legacy

You are an old soul
When the crickets sound music
Hear the neighbors TV is the static

You are an old soul
Seeking transcendence
Finding stillness in the dark

You are an old soul
Who went on the Search
Found nothing and everything of meaning

You are an old soul
No sailor or homemaker at last
Heart and spirit lost to future hopes

You are an old soul
And this is the only truth
You have ever known

Moods’ Wing

Weather changes in its denied space. The sky over my head I walk on an illuminated road overlooking the valley that lies along the sea. And the weather shines gently on my face. The day scorches its way to a noon filled with sounds. “Dragon flies kissed me on my way to work” says an unassuming romantic. And the skies turn black without warning. Switchover to a downpour as if a bright sun is too much of a front for the weather to keep up. The rain drips through as it has for months now. The season will not give in to the beat of a calendar. By sunset the departure of the sun goes unreckoned, overshadowed by lightning wreaking silently in the furious sky. The night drizzle passes in silence. An occasional cricket and the whir of an active fan as the day gives in to its mood swings and I retire from mine.

And its Done

Lit glass painting

Glass shiny bits in bronze

was

Draw me up a drama

A day of occurences much heightened by timing. Guess everyone manages a smile even when they feel like shit. Is that why happiness seems so overrated? Probably can’t be shared, happiness that is. Very little can be shared if you think about it. It’s all an exercise in display for conversation, respect and most times plain old attention.

As for the drama bit, what else do you call a weak stomach, 3 buckets of clothes washed, color pencil sketch following up to anxiety, shock, a chase, showarma which I fear will worsen the stomach and 4 hours of rain whacked mental hauling ending with a walk on tiled roads wearing slippers. Yes, they slip. Especially on wet tiles. Admit I will, the rain is not helping anything.

But, the sketch. I went ahead and colored it up to see what combinations I will use on glass. The second sketch ever I have used colors.

Sketch colored

Tonight

Life collects in lots
cigarette butt thoughts
dreams of ashes
rain bright washes
sleepless I, untying knots

Blows my mind

I woke up high on making a sketch for Ma yesterday, spoiling for a bright day, focused on the spark.

Sketch basic - Cow & Krishna for Ma

And I talked surrealism, Ireland, rock and roll, Kashmir and wealth managers to anyone who would have a conversation. It winds me up sometimes finding things and knowing them.

It takes so little to trip me up. Putting pencil to paper and creating form, owning the fragility of your hopes, finding Lester Bangs, the many ways a story can be told, even that words have stories, being fascinated itself.

I’ve been told I want nothing badly enough. The truth is, I do not want one thing bad enough. Just my fix.

Writing nevertheless

Ever tried to work out what it is you want to do badly enough to kill for? I am sadly clueless. And, that is how I ended up reading why you fail at writing. No, that’s not a clue.

It works on many levels. Especially “Some things can not be done. Writing without writing is one of them.” So, doing is the theme. Hah doing, sure doing. The only thing I’m doing, is playing scrabble and guest starring in “what I think” conversations. You know how someone else is having a thought huddle and you pipe in to say something only you think is important and wonder why you did it. Oh, you don’t. I see. Good for you.

More to the point is what is said about “…the second law of thermodynamics applied to creative works. The natural state of a book idea is for it not to be written. We have to expend extra energy to manifest an idea in the world, and that’s why making things can be so magical.” Manifestation. Viral. Probably why even plagiarism is still doing. HALKa in Bangladesh or even We are Family (no way am I linking this) makes you appreciate the doing no? Both adaptations of hollywood films (The Hulk & Step Mom) albeit parodies  in their own way.

I fully understand, even as I rely so much on words within quotes, that “Quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit” [Oscar Wilde]. This is no inspiration, its plain writing with a crutch. I could say its because the words escape the meaning I want to convey. Sometimes. Though right now, sitting on a bed drenched in rain water, skipping dinner again, hearing the fan pull itself together, I wonder am I also exactly how

“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone elses opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”

The picture is linked to an article related to doing nothing.
Click click then.

It works on many levels. Especially “Some things can not be done. Writing without writing is one of them.”

Flit Flat

What a classic case of ADD then. I think the words make sense, so off to Lexulous to dabble in Scrabble. Then, this lack of words itself, so the blog and twitter relapse (more blog really). Now I’m moving off the whole conversational angle and considering a change in address, so my lifestyle swings off self sufficiency. For now, there’s dirty clothes, yesterday’s salad, unswept floor and piles of unread books while I monkey away at the laptop. I’m afraid the “now” bit will be “always” if I continue.

Tally ho and sally forth.

Easy to say while Dave Mathhews belts out “Where are you going”

New post added

I love lists. Almost as much as conversations. A little less than I love music.

So I crossed this off my list. One blog. One page. Checked. Write more. Working on it. Good job then.

There’s a lot to laugh about these days. Rain in torrents, comics in torrents, passing days and passing words.

When you have the freedom to do whatever you want in beautiful weather, I end up doing exactly nothing. But, the perfect moment is still around. A flute that makes music of wind and a choice to not eat dinner. Getting fat on everything in excess and picking things to pass the time. Passing it all around.

Stops and Starts

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

The fear of the unknown slaps you treelike as you drive into the wilderness in search of yourself. Stalled by the vividness of your dreams, the full weight of your expectations and the vision of your ideal self, your strengths not your weaknesses will trip you up. And, happiness is when you are content with what you have. When you choose to be content. The only choice of importance is to choose what to give up and when to settle.

No wonder the majority of adult life seems to be concerned with regret, remorse and a desperate attempt to introduce humility to your 12 year old self who was brave enough to dream and haughty enough to believe. Contentment is the name of the bus shelter you choose to wait at instead of hiking on the long pursuit to possible failure. Would you set out if you knew you were not to succeed in accepted sense of the term? Could you will yourself to fail in every way you think important and still love the 12 year old in you? Is there a 12 year old in you? Or, did you grow up too soon, too eager to be happy? Like me.