what is the matter of me?
Striking chords across the universe
ripples of our actions which disperse and are never reversed!
The eyes are water to the dehydrated soul
blue and bottomless
descending
across brows no one knows
beneath the sheets
the message keeps
while all the world moves onward
ever marching

here we two are lost in the space between time

Friday

Why is the easel empty, the grass un-mowed, the heat encroaching? August is swift around the corner and once again the cycle of fall and schools returning begins. The tourists will all go home, the traffic will be better and perhaps by January this southern winter will chill us just enough to force us to wear our sweaters.
But for now the days are long and hot and outside chores are unlikely to be completed. We shall all sit inside and suck up the air conditioning while we can.
Inspiration:
it comes unannounced, it leaves without saying goodbye.
If you don't make it yours while it's in your head it will find another head.
The sounds and smells can stir her and invite her in like a ghost through mental halls and walls,
leaving no trace but a subtle shiver saying: 'create!'

Thursday morning I think? I am lost in the mix-up between sleep and dreams, work and life. Altogether not a bad thing, I don't have some quaterly figure to meet, I walk away from my job cash in hand, yes I sweat for that cash but it's the kind of clean, liquor coated sweating that makes me sleep well and deep and dream.

Back to blogging business, and to recreating my website! I think it is just mandatory to think about this the way one thinks about her diary: no one else is going to be reading this. The trick is to fool my brain into really believing that so that the intent of my writing goes out there into the vapid substructure of the Internet unabated by editing. Thank God for spellcheck.