The Perfect Someone

Dayvan Cowboy

Cowboys are the fire that burns.  Riding along sacred land, dancing dust, twilight, then west... alone and wild. Desecrating laws that bind US.  The ones we should follow because darker men know how to fly.  Tobacco can be spiritual, too, if the inhale reveals just how open your space is.  It's not forever, though, like your hat.  Even if it was, forever is no match for the desert.

Cowboys, they are my weakness for so very long.  Always on the precipice.  Heart on your gun. I race between tumbleweeds, whipped and spurred, discovering uncharted admiration isn't mired in adoration, but grows inside like a prize I couldn't map out... in the alone and wild.

Who really says they want to be a cowboy anyway?

Seen & Heard

"...friendship is above all the art of allowing the soft light of love to fall upon even our darkest sides" - a brainpicker.

"your friendship means so much..." - soft light.

*footnote: June 8 was National Best Friend's Day. Something brought to light at 10:49am today.

Continuum

For once in the space-time continuum I didn't count miles.  I didn't spot the cracks before me. I wasn't chased by a shadow.  The watchers traced my footsteps as if I didn't have eyes.  My guide never did find my satellite.  I merely glided into silk wrapped in complete and utter light.  No work, no sound, no space, no time.  It lasted an eternity until I didn't deserve it.

All I Need

i had a dream...

i was buried in sand.  the tide was inevitable but i'd dug deep anyway.  my hands felt free being connected to arms, shoulders, and neck.  to my brain.  all of it moved about wading under the moonlight without purpose.  resistance clearly wasn't one of them.  most of me was in there like a masochist and the only rhythm came from just below the surface above my tambourine bruise, wherever that is, louder than waves.  louder than the alarm. 

when seeing is sadness and surreal

“Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Making Good

Redemption occupies my heart.  A quarter in spent making good thoughts.  Even dreams must include morning.  Curiosity is wicked, though, and I'm giving it bones.  My plan is to race a lot this year.  Eight races to be exact in the hopes they'll ache and I will win at least one.  The people I love most keep me from obsessing over mortality, so things could be worse. Thank goodness they love me half as much.  

never trust your sensory memory

Morals and Madness © 2016

art affects

a thousand waves

Tractor Ride

A heavy day.  Cumulative, too, because October is for shifty girls that hold everything.  Standing on a tractor, I watched the manure being scooped up then turned into fertilizer.  I could have used one of those all my life.  One for when I sat in the DMV parking lot earlier crying and waiting for a title.  A title shouldn't mean anything, but it does.  In three years it was good bye, first love.  In three hours, I  got to carry on one more time, Chevy '65.  Now they can ride off into the sunset together.

       

Tractor Ride. October 2015.

"Art for me is the science of freedom." - Joseph Beuys

Death

Death makes ordinary men out of us all.  Happy Birthday to me.  

summer's end

Tonight feels like the sun is extinguished and with heavy hearts we search for what remains staring back at us.

In Defense

In Defense of Melancholy
Pablo Medina

At least once a week
I walk into the city of bricks
where the rubies grow

and the killers await
the coming of doves and cats.

I pass by the homes of butchers
and their knives sharpened by insomnia

to the river of black sails
and the torn-up sea and the teeth of dogs.

She waits for me in a narrow bed,
watching the rain
that gathers on the broken street

and the weak light of dusk
and the singing trees.

 

Hunter

 
...and the art of holding on.

music by birds

Birds on the Wires from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo.

Rita, Raquel, Redemption

Affection grows in a dark cell.  Ok, that's a bit much.  Let's not do this.  In the grim I think as a way to cope with time and its relentless rhythm.

Rita, Raquel, and Redemption, May 2015

Seen & Heard

* Desperately trying to piece together the "Lightness" on the battered cover of a book I've yet to finish. - Borrowed: The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

* It's high time to rebel. The quest for liberation is calling. - Health & art & morning horoscope by D.