My Gift to Thee

This is cool. I couldn't write earlier today. Like I actually tried. Lowered my standards and everything. Then, lying in bed, watching Californication and this started coming out. I think it is about the creative process. Or god. Probably both. Cause Im deep like that:

Dancing on the tip is the promise of what is there; skating haphazardly on ice thin and sharp but beautiful. Spark the flame wavering in the wind. Hold your breath and clutch at faith when the light shrinks to a glow and pray to your god for rejuvenation. The flameless match, charred and soft, a sad lifeless totem to what was there and is no more. And then faith rewarded, the phoenix rises from its ashes and screams into the universe. Bury the terror at a world unilluminated and forget the pain explaining the truth to you and instead listen to this fake answer, this cheap magic trick stealing the show. Life burned out and life glowing bright are both life. You learn to live, and you learn to thrive, and where you are comfortable is where you will wish you always are.

"You could be my black Kate Moss tonight." Thanks Kanye, yet another enchanting morsel of philosophy.

I want to try a bit of fiction. Let me spit out a silly yarn. I can't write fiction without tabbing in, lol. I think that is because Im uncomfortable with it. Its an arena I don't understand so I revert to the rules supporting my weak frame. I can't "flow". Kind of like a research paper.

Black Kate Moss

Blue grass undulates on the horizon, like a giant dragon's back sliding through the sky. The light is gold. The breeze is warm. Here you want to breathe in the world. You know this simple world, this physical combination of elements, banal and dismissable under other conditions, is fulfilling and it can sustain you like oxygen as long as you can just keep it in your stomach forever, right next to the first time your heart fluttered. Clouds dance in the sky, one by one kissing the dragon. You put your hand on the only tree in the field. You lean on it and you shift your weight off your leg and grimace from the pain. You squeeze your eyes tight and you strain your sight on the horizon. Over one of those hills her silhouette will appear. It will not be clear at first. The thump in your chest will alert you to her coming before you can discern a figure. So strain your eyes. Keep a sharp look out because you cannot miss her. Behind one of those waving mounds she is hiding. You could go look for her but she told you to wait by this tree. So wait.

Shift your weight again. Put your hole body up against the tree. Pick a piece of grass and put it in your mouth. Chew it back and forth and cross your arms. The sun drops a little bit closer to the top of our planet. The first blue and cold hints of desperation grab your diaphragm. For now, you can dismiss the feeling as paranoid. For now, you know better. She is coming. Her journey has been hard, and it has been long. She will tell you about the world beyond this field. When she finds you she will teach you how to dance. And then you will be complete.