Saturday, June 22, 2013

a song

Sometimes I get the strong urge to make a song. 
Somehow I just grab an instrument what ever I have available at the moment (and I really cant play), because I feel words and most of all sound waves bubbling up and through me. It is like a release of innocent supposed crimes, ( embarrassing the daytime self, IT gets overruled), an exploration of inner cries and things that hide from my superficial daytime functioning mind. It can never really fully understand what it all means anyway. It is not the instrument for translating what lies beyond.That is why spontaneous unthoughtful art poetry and music is a part of our lives. Without it we would maybe become machines. In giving myself up I surrender to being a complete unknowing idiot, why? Because I just love it touching me, extinguishing me, freeing me from me, creating that distance, birthing that wondering this unspeakable space where everything is possible and anything is welcome.


never-a-tapestery-of-me


Bleak streak
the mind reeks
of innocent crimes
all the time
it reminds
and cries
It remembers and wines,
all the time, all its time
Quoting words of others,
questioning the times past, over, and gone
long time by
backwards and forwards,
reminding
stitching, trying to stitch it all together,
the ONE that can never be
a tapestry of
Me

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