Cling. Murmur. Taken.

This was written for the Three Word Wednesday.  I haven't written in so long.  I feel rusty - like there's not really a connection between the universe and my brain anymore.  Like when I visualize what I write, it's distant and hazy.  So this short little scribble is like something you remember when you wake up from a dream, so vivid that you aren't really sure if it happened, or if it was just your imagination.  I hope you enjoyed Cling. Murmur. Taken.  :)

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Down By The River

Been an eternity since I've written anything.  This was written for Wordle 60 at the Sunday Whirl.  The twelves words were crawl, shadows, corona, nails, vessels, brush, willow, mud, stones, trembled, bluffs, stain.  When I read the words the image that popped into my head was of this wild, wet river girl sitting in the shade of a willow tree, brushing out her hair.  I started writing - all my writing seems to take a fantastical turn - and I could see this grizzled old farmer telling a young, handsome adventurer how to find the river faery.  Maybe an idea worth pursuing?  I hope you enjoyed Down By The River :)

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Deviant. Minuscule. Trivial.

Just feeling a bit insignificant in the grand scheme of things.  Real people dying out there every day and even though all I want to do is make a difference, all I see around me are people trying and failing to do so.  Just feeling like facebook posts and awareness bracelets aren't really helping anyone out.  Need to work harder to be someone real.  Hope you enjoyed Deviant.  Minuscule.  Trivial.

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Angelic. Foster. Ruin.

Recently, I was part of a very interesting discussion that has stayed on my mind for many days about what power we give others to dictate who and what we are supposed to be.  Combined with a line from Julius Caesar ("I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep" Cassius, Act 1, Scene 3), and a study I read about how if dogs are electrocuted inside a cage, with no way to escape, when the cage is taken away they still stand and endure the pain rather than fleeing because they have been conditioned to believe there is no escape, the problems of much of modern society have been on my mind a lot.  Real people are destroyed every day by those who tell others that what they are isn't good enough.  Measuring up today means fitting a mold instead of reaching new heights.  No one really wants to be different, because you don't have to be accountable for what you do if everyone else is doing it too.  Anyone who does want to doesn't, because they feel like there is no point: they are dogs being shocked every day.  I do not want to be the kind of person that can't see what is right and wrong until a tragedy takes place.  I do not want to be the reason that someone falls instead of flies.  I don't have any of the answers, but I know that in myself I can't risk being afraid to take off the mask of "normal" that I hide behind.  Maybe it starts small - with one person, one family, one school, one community - but good can be just as infectious as bad.  Maybe if we stop worrying about whether our own mask is on straight and instead focus as much love and compassion on others as we can, things will change.  Just a bit of rambling thought.  I hope that you enjoyed Angelic. Foster. Ruin :)

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When Words Cannot Be Written

In recent months, I have stopped writing.  Not all together, of course - books full of essays on nuclear chemistry and abnormal developmental psychology and anarchy and freedom.  But nothing has really inspired me, or at least I haven't been able to express them adequately.  I failed the words.  But however awkwardly and painfully, I'm going to bring them back.  In the mean time, I've been expressing myself in a different median - dance choreography.  When I try to write, what I really see is movement.  Now all that's left to do is pin that feeling down onto paper.  I hope you enjoyed When Words Cannot Be Written :)

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A Player's Dream

I wrote this poem sitting in the bathroom getting ready before I performed a Shakespeare piece - everyone thought it was a little weird when I whipped out my abused writing journal with half my makeup on - and feel like it encompasses the "player's dream" and what Shakespeare and all of the cast means to me.  It is full of fragments of thoughts and contradicting ideas and is just a whirlwind of raw passion, which is what fills my heart when I perform Shakespeare.  I hope you enjoyed A Player's Dream :)

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Butterflies

In the last few weeks I've gotten to know a young woman.  She has several physical problems that cause her to shake when she walks, and she looks very small and young, more like a little girl than nearly an adult.  However, her outward appearance is the least of things about her that is most unique.  Her spirit is so sweet and strong and I am inspired every day by her bravery and enthusiasm.  We all need to put less measure into the outward appearance and "disabilities" of those around us and look instead for the strength of the heart.  I hope you enjoyed Butterflies :)

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