pleasant surprise

At the suggestion of Jason Mraz, I've subscribed to the Google group "Cafe Gratitude's Question of the Day". Today's question:

¿Que en tu vida no estas escogiendo poderosamente?
What in your life are you not choosing powerfully?

Hmm...

saturday morning

Feels like I'm cheating, calling 18 minutes after midnight "morning", but I could not think of anything more appropriate to call my heart's new stretch-and-wake. Ah... my restless fingers needed to do something other than wander up and down the fretboard, guessing at jazz chords. I've got fresh strings and a good meal in my body; life is good and whole and peaceful.

This seems strange and perhaps disturbingly different from my last post, but yesterday this week's habits of severe sleep deprivation were finally taking a toll, and I couldn't help but be tired in all arenas. I woke up today, "in a very simple way", and realized I felt differently in the large scheme of things. By the way, I like Courier font.

My nails are painted black, my rings have sealed in a lifetime of tan lines, my hair is up, samurai style. I feel foolish sometimes—I am so easily moved, so easily overwhelmed with love for the beauty in this world. Tears come easily these days, but for reasons different than before. I will always have trouble understanding how some people think beauty is a waste of time.

That being said, I feel foolish sometimes—I am so easily upset, so easily angry with those who refuse to be reckless, those who cling greedily to structure like rafters and concrete could fill their empty heart-homes...Why can't we sing in public? Who said we can't?

Today they said, "You are disturbing people." Hmm. I think people are only disturbed when we sing in public/sit down in elevators/dance in the library/have imaginary conversations because they don't see it often and it scares them. Sigh [heart swell]. I love living and breathing and playing and being; I am not sure why this makes others uncomfortable. I am not sure why we are so afraid of things we don't know, I am not sure why more of us don't scream/dance/laugh/cry when we want to. I've found myself smiling as I type... maybe they just haven't tried it yet. I don't want to shock anyone anymore! I don't want people to stare when we sing loudly and laugh in the dining hall! I want them to join me! Is that so strange?

Ah, but I can't waste anymore time being upset with the world, because it is too amusing—look at how beautiful the world is, even with all its "sham, drudgery, and broken dreams," it sits there, His most beautiful creation, and it is completely blind. It does not know how beautiful its parts are, it does not see how beautiful it is, it does not even accept itself. The last is the most tragic of the truths, but that makes it, in part, all the more beautiful.

To the cynic, the pessimist, the sadist, forgive me. I don't mean to ignore the world's problems, or belittle them. But I do invite you, friend, to sit back and see how miraculous it is that the world still works. It's still alive and kicking. I think that is fantastic. I hope that one day, you'll agree. So, to those who are willing to slough off the ugly for a day, I think that it is our duty to hold up tiny mirrors to the world in all the ways we can, and help it see its true reflection.

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other."

[ ]

to be valiant,
to be brave,
to be...
i have been running
from i don't know what
(life? living?)
and walking around,
a ghost with no past,
wishing for something to feel;
i envy the jealous, the tortured, the ecstatic,
something sounds better than this
squishy 'ish' i've learned to embrace.

your blood ran thin, your skin felt thick
i had always wished it were the other way around.

now,
everything inside me feels thin,
like i could disappear under harsh lighting,
and i can't find the ganas i once did.
my heart swells and pulses for dead poets, dead artists,
i squeal in delight at imaginary countries and towns,
i laugh hollowly at everything uncertain.

is this how you felt?
crustaceous?
was your yelling at me, for you?
maybe you were sane, and the rest of us weren't—
maybe we wished we could cackle as loudly as you.

when ive dealt with whatever,
and all thats left is me.
it gets a little boring,
and i just want to feel my heart beat again.

there's probably something wrong here

"i'll say i've got everything i need, but the only thing i've got is the thrill of holding my breath"

where have i gone?

little things

It's all about the little things,

like crinkled corners on postcards,
and hot chai tea running down your throat on a Tuesday night;
like oversized armchairs;
and soft, wide grins on faces of strangers;

like greasy pastel smudges,

and bundles of brightly-colored scarves tossed in the air;

like Saturday night fundraisers,

and the sunny stretch of 280 with the wind on your face;

like poets in basements,
and the rosy warmth in a face well-slept;
like fudge brownies,
and tired hands folding gently into place.

lists

- Broken, beautiful
- Guarded, I think
- Hands and eyes
- Smiles
- (Where did my courage go?)
- Clock-glancing
- Soft
- Quiet
- (Where did you go?)
- "It's a long way down, when your hopes are high as mountains"
- Dreaming, always dreaming.

i wish i were...

More soft-spoken,
More eloquent,
More structured,
More fearless,
More tolerant,
More accepting,
More practical;

I am none of these things frequently,
and some of these things occasionally.

I wish I were brave,
I wish you were braver.
I wish, I hope, I dream—
that my hands could hold your weight.

at last

Time to myself, and writing at 3am. I haven't been awake at this time in awhile, having surrendered to that whole "8 hours a night" schpiel that everyone's been convincing me is best. Well, I am sorry, but I like this time of the night. (Morning? I have always wondered)

It's beautiful, okay? The perfect break between the last day and the next, the set and the rise, slowly fading night sounds and slowly rising morning noises, and everything in between. I like hearing air flow through the ceiling vents and seeing lights in windows disappear as the night wanes on. I like talking to the occasional insomniac. I like pretending we are the only ones alive. I like this time of the night.

I am me, in a grotesque, fabulous, broken way; a slightly dizzy superstar, on the edge of that stage...

I guess tonight won't be a poetic one. But I just wanted to say that. And know that. I like this time of the night.