poetry & mystery
I want to write about food. And murder. And why I haven't used the word "loquacious" in a sentence yet. But not today. Today, I'm tired, exhausted by a week of laborious de-cluttering. And moved, at the same time, by this sense of space that has emerged in my head----some spell of newness. Do you know that everyone has a hidden rap star inside of them? In the fall, when the leaves turn sepia, I become an anthropologist. I listen to the babble-jabber-chatter of singer-songwriters who know how to deliver the placebo effect. I do not elect to read post-modern verse. A few days ago, throwing out shirts I once thought defined me, I realized I am ready for a make-over. Before, now, before, after. Click, click. Somehow it matters. Even after meditation, I reach for my lipstick. I like being a girl, and I like being irreverent. Against who or what? The villain is always in flux. But we need villains to lead a meaningful life, and I'm just coming to understand this. Human verses self, human verses human, human verses nature. Conflict is the wise of life. So I thread words together to understand this, toss out books and dresses that heckle me, waiting for the temperature to plummet. Each year, I fixate on a new summit. Remember everyone is tortured by something, be it a headache or an unwanted rumor. So I've decided to take more risks. I'll title my album "Dr. Collision", each track an ode to a different villain. I wonder if animals use swear words, pray, and balk at their own foolishness? Sometimes in meditation class, I imagine hugging each jagged thought.