Falling...

I enjoy the feeling of falling. That moment when you realize that you've lost balance. That moment you reach frantically for support that is non-existent or at the very least unstable. The loss of breathe, the first loss of breathe. And then fear sets in and engulfs you making the fall itself seem trivial to the monster simply named fear...

I guess I like it because of the plethora of emotion you go through that stems from one simple act...falling. Sometimes I give into it all it to be an excuse for doing nothing to stop it. Sometimes I lay back in it and just enjoy. Sometimes I seek it to put myself on the right track.

I guess really I don't see falling as a bad thing. More like a rebirth.


Falling through Limbs of Trees
By

Spoken

Reading through bubbles...

I've claimed the disease of writers block many times however I'm unsure if it's truly writers block or my minds inability to focus on one thing.

This morning I awoke to coldness. The seasons are changing...you can smell it. I started thinking about how this breeze, ultimately a stranger, snuck into my home and proceeded to invade me. Raping me of the little warmth I had managed to forage during the night.

So then my mind goes off on this tangent, protesting the pilfering of my heat and at the same time captivated by its ability to enter my sanctuary and take. And I want to capture it...

So here I am lying in front of my laptop captivated by this bubble screensaver and mesmerized by how my words look when the bubbles glide over them when I'm suppose to be writing...

I don't think its writers block just a glimpse of my inabilities...

Nudity

There is something about being exposed. Completing exposed. The shedding of preconceived notions, the shedding of falsities, mascara, clothing, masks.

When I think of what it means to be exposed I think of standing before something naked. The feeling sends chills up my spine  but tickles my curiosity. I'm intrigued by it and afraid of it all the same. It's like breathing your first bit of air and at the same time your last.

Mentally I have streaked many. Walking onto a field bare on wet grass succumbing to the elements. Wetness on the bottom of my feet from the morning dew. Slipping off my top layer of skin, feeling the heat of the sun against my flesh but not running from the exposure. But in my field no one is there and yet I tremble at the thought. It's like it's harder to shed myself to no-one than it is to everyone.

But maybe that's just it. Maybe my nervousness stems from my fear of exposing myself...to...myself...

Welcome...

So as I'm creating this blog, my partner says to me, "Bae you're creating another page?" Meaning isn't Twitter, Myspace, Facebook, Blogtalkradio, and my own personal website enough? Lol...

What I don't have is a place that I can be free that doesn't limit my characters. So here I am...

I am determined to at least write something every day- even if it's just a word.

But nothing is just a word to me, now is it? Single words seem to take on the meaning I give to them. Certain words taste good to my lips and I may over use them like: sanctuary, fornication, deviant, beautiful, or falling. There are a few phrases that tease my pallet as well, like: sucking on my air, tasting my breathe, falling through the limbs of trees, making my wetness wet, puppets can't dance on cut strings, dipping her toe in my ink/well/waters, whatever...

So what's my deal?

I want to write...that's it...just write. My English teacher told me once that I would die poor when I told her I wanted to be a writer. I told her I didn't mind that because I would live forever between the pages I had written. Hmm...well now I don't want to wait until I die to get read. Now I'm finding it hard to concentrate on my 9 to 5. I'm getting antsy...

I'm starting to hear colors and taste sound. Things are no longer simple. I think like I write...colorful. When I'm in the car, confined to the passenger seat, I find myself closing my eyes and allowing my mind to play within the breeze that tenderly kisses my cheek and I want to get lost in that. I feel the sun drinking bits of me and tempting me to float within its light. The view of the mountains call out to me long after we have driven through them and I find myself wanting to capture all of this on paper.

Sometimes I wish my blood was ink and then all I would have to do is touch the paper and my thoughts would leak onto it...but that would be too simple wouldn't it?

So once again welcome...I'm doing this for me but you're free to watch.

Spoken