Breeze

I am currently reading The Alchemist.
Seems like everything around me has the same message to relay,
"Enjoy the present moment. Live in the present moment. Appreciate the present moment."
I truly yearn too.
I yearn to be able to close my eyes and only envision tiny stars along with thoughtless
clouds.
To appreciate where I am currently in life and love every moment of it.
To live day by day and disregard the past and future.

But heavy is my insomnia,
and heavy are my thoughts of a fruitless future and a guilt full past, along with all other unfulfilled dreams and desires .

Its usually during my walk from the bus stop to work, that I find slight peace.
The wind blows lightly on my face to remind me that I am currently in the present and the peace in my heart rings like the loudest bell ever heard.
This one moment in time will be a memory in less than a few seconds.
Other days I find its a strangers smile that reminds me I am in the present moment,
but all these things happen momentarily and then I find my mind revert back to thoughts of the future and past.
Worries and anxiety that everything I currently have in life is meaningless,
That nothing is where Id like it to be,
That I don't have a consistency ,
That I have failed not only myself but others,
And most importantly that I cant do anything to change it.
I need things to be alright now, I need my life to be in order now, I need to fix things now,
I want to work on things now, I want the answers to my questions now,
But none of these things I want now are in my hands.
None of them are in my control .
None but one,
Appreciating the present moment.
As simple as that solution is,
Is as simple as the following question I will ask:

How?

Its not simple. Its a day to day struggle. Its waking up everyday and convincing yourself that nothing else matters but your very actions at that very moment.
It seems that I read and realize what it is I need to do.
Its like taking in a fresh breath of air on a hot summer day,
That light breeze that appears out of no where.
How do you keep that emotion? that passion to appreciate everything you currently have in the present moment?
Are we all bond to live our lives asking how? over thinking our actions and worrying about why we cant have or do certain things?
As I sit here and type am I not wasting the precious present moment I was granted worrying and wondering how to go about and appreciate it all?
Where are my actions and why do they fall short to my thoughts?
What is it that I lack that pushes me towards my anxieties and worries?
Where can I find that peace in my heart to love and just live for loving and not that
romance in my life type of love, but love for all things, myself, the complexities of life, my family, the earth, my friends, complete strangers....
Where does love for all things weigh in heavier than any unresolved question?
Instead I'm stuck in this place where I struggle to understand why its so hard to just live and be,
why I cant be content with all the questions I have on my shoulders,
why I need to pin point where my heart lies in regards to my future endeavors,
why I seem to need love, when I already have pure and unconditional love from my family and friends.
What is to dream then?
Is it not torture in its self?
To dream is to wish and desire things you do not have in the current moment.
In some cases to place yourself out of the current moment.
I suppose that is the answer to why I cant find myself in the present moment.
I dream,
I am a dreamer,
I desire deeply,
I weigh life heavily on wants rather then needs.
Is this where I have gone wrong?
Must I eliminate dreams all together from my life?
I need an answer as to why I cant live in the present moment, why its a struggle, why my appreciation comes and goes unexpectedly like the light wind breeze.
But should I really be looking for an answer? Or simply asking less of the world and keeping my eyes open like that of a new born child trying to learn as much as I can from this new world.
Is that not an answer in itself?
And as I write and reread over this I feel that I can hear that loud bell of peace ringing in my heart.
Ive done it today,
Ive appreciated the present moment, with all my questions, with all my troubles.
Must I write and read things every day that relay to appreciate today?
When will it become second nature?

Faith must have something to do with it all...
but that's another story in itself like dreams and achievement,
like self esteem and forgiveness,
does any of this make sense at all?
I could go on and continue to question myself,
But I suppose really the best way is to take it one day at a time,
and remind myself every day that although none of it makes sense,
although none of my questions have yet to be answered,
the beauty lies within that.....

BOLD as LOVE

"So check it out right,

I've tired every approach to living,

Ive done tired it all,

I haven't tired everything but Ive tired every approach,

sometimes you have to try everything to get the approach the same.

Ive tired it all ,

I bought a bunch of stuff and went "Nah I don't like that",

I kinda came in and out of that a couple of times.

Thought I would shut myself off, I thought maybe that's cool ,

maybe that's what you have to do be a genius; Is you have to be mad ,

so if you get mad before the word genius maybe you can make genius appear, right?

Well that doesn't work either .

and I'm in a good place Ive paced myself pretty well,

I'm 30 Ive seen some cool stuff,

I made a lot of stuff happen for myself

I made a lot of stuff happen for myself right?

That's a really cool sentence when you're in your 20's

"I made it happen for myself"

But all that means is that I've just some way or another found a way to synthesis love,

or synthesis soothing,

You cant get that.

And what I'm trying to say is that Ive messed with all the approaches expect for one..

and its going to sound really corny but that's just love,

That's just love...

Ive done everything in my life that I want to do expect just give and feel love for my living

and I don't mean roman candle fire work ,Hollywood hot pink love,

I mean like I got your back love,

I don't need to hear I love you

you guys love me, I love you, we got that down

but some of the people who will tell you they love you,

Are the last same people who will be the last to have your back,

so I'm going to experiment with this love thing, giving love, feeling love,

I know it sounds really corny but its the last thing I got to check out before I check out..."

-John Mayer (Short speech made during Bold As Love)

10 days away from twenty two,

I feel as though twenty one has lasted an eternity.

Lesson after lesson , pain after pain, stress after stress, worry after worry,

I've never wanted a year to end so much.

I've been meaning to post this new entry but I haven't had the chance to really decide

what it is I'd like to say about twenty one,

How it is I'd like to sum it all up.

All I know is HOW I want to enter twenty two.

I never realized that possibly the way you start a year is the way you end it.

Like John Mayer my approach to life starting 21 was a mad one. I felt like I needed happiness,

Anything that brought about happiness, instant, at that very moment happiness.

I too tired just about everything and always came back to the initial mad approach I started off with, I needed instant happiness. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with seeking happiness, but avoiding pain while attempting to seek it, is a horrible approach.

I feel like I drove in circles just for the mere ability to say I've done it.

In the process though I hurt myself a lot and most importantly others.

I found a way to sooth and hide away my angry and pain :I used the "distraction" approach.

Which honestly only made me keep spining.

I didn't confront any of that anger and pain and I let those two emotions steer the wheel to my life under the impression that the two emotions were just yearnings for something better.

I ran away from love, from truth,

and I fled straight into lies,

like tiny balls of fantasies, they seemed to bring me happiness.

Yet at the end of the day or when I found myself alone deep in my thoughts ,

I felt a deep void that seemed to cause my throat to stiffen ,swell, and lock.

and ironically I felt completely and utterly unhappy.

As soon as I'd begin to feel that way, Id rush to find something to "distract" me from those emotions,

Again came in the lies,

Like tiny glowing stars,

Like sunshine on a cloudy day.

Masked.

I felt like I stranger in my own body, trying to please everybody.

Caught up in something I wasn't .

"Trying to win the lottery rather then working towards that paycheck" ( Word to Bright Eyes)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Twenty Two,

I've had a past rough year, although I learned much , I know I may forget the lessons and proceed to make similar mistakes. Just one request twenty two...Keep me where the light is, the real light , away from the lies. I enter you humble and hurt, give me guidance to heal and allow others to heal as well. A year older twenty two, a year over the terrible twenty one's , felt like a child going through the terrible two's. Keep me where the light is , keep my eyes open and allow me to try one last REAL approach, Love, love for myself and love for those that truly care about me. I come to you humble and on my knees. I come to you a different person yet not with my heart on ice or ready to shut down, but with my heart open and ready to "just give and feel love for my living", twenty two this is going to be a fabulous year for us, with the ups and with the downs. Twenty two lets strive to be BOLD as LOVE.

Sincerely Yours

Twenty One

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My Dearest Twenty One,

There's much I'd like to thank you for, Yes I said thank you for.

Although we made a mess together, it was still beautiful,

without you I don't think I'd be as full filled and ready to move on to me.

You forced me to see my destructive ways,

You forced me to see how far I'd go to run away from reality,

Thank you twenty one,

I'm looking forward to having you as a support and reminder of who I really am.

Sincerely Yours

Twenty Two.

PS. Just 8 more days twenty one, just 8 more days,

Ill allow you to check out with a big bang.

I Want to Kiss You, Vino Tinto

i want to kiss you

shadow you jaw like against touch

touch you sent of musk

salt water and sea foam clean

want to kiss you

near god

amongst strangers

i dare either to stop me

keep me

want to kiss you bitter

tired of waiting

wondering

want to kiss you empty

steady as forever

small as favor

maybe kiss you curve

where shoulder meets neck

or silk of throat

perhaps rough of chin

inside elbows

wrists

then rest

smooth of chest

back

hip to hip

dip of belly

want to hold you entwine like vowels

palm against palm

fingers laced

and waiting

i want to kiss you unbroken

before too many hearts snap like dry and dead things

this longing

like fire

like hunger

like nothing before

or since

just one

small

solitary kiss

no questions

no worries

no words

just a kiss

quiet

quick

subtle

silent

it'll probably speak volumes

- Bassey Ikpi

*Live

Day By Day

"People often talk as they age about regrets. I have several: not valuing my self and my skills, believing that others were somehow more worthy,thinking that I was alone, and not telling people that mattered, that they actually did. Always value yourself and your gifts. Follow your heart."
-Jude Harzer

Triggered by this thought I felt the need to write a few lines,
I believe the toughest part of life is living in the moment. Letting go of the past, believing in the future and having faith in our hearts. My biggest on going regret is not living in the moment. I find myself searching for answers to questions that can only be answered in a life time of experience, I find myself searching my mind for answers to questions that should have passed on with the time. Its a day to day struggle and nothing ever seems to be consistent. Letting go of everything seems to be the biggest struggle, keeping the faith that things will work out the way they need to and trust that what works out is best for you. I find the only time my mind isn't pondering the past or racing to the future, is when I'm proposing new ideas for my photography, new ideas for my paintings or forming my thoughts into verses that might expose anything that's yearning to be realized and released. When I think of following my heart I think of letting everything go and living just in that simple moment in time, like a photograph, frozen for that one day, taking it one click at a time. I regret this week in time. I've spent it in the past, I've spent it dreaming of hope in the future, and I've appreciated nothing that stands right in front of me. I don't want to continue on like this. I refuse to continue on like this....

Thought of the week:

"I'd like to find in a crowd full of people,
Late in the night,
Look into your eyes and tell you how much you mean to me, without having to say one single word, then slightly lean into the groove between your shoulder and neck and whisper these words into your ear..."I'll be better when I'm older, I'll be the greatest fan of your life, now I can say I've really followed my heart."
I'd take a mental picture of your face, the details of your scent, the placement, size and color of the moon.....
Holding you close to me, I'd have my eyes shut..
We'd heard Billie Holiday's song in the distance, "Come rain or Come Shine".
The crowd would continue on there busy path.
They wouldn't matter because for once in my whole existence, my whole world is standing right in front of me......"

"I believe sometimes, some forms…objects…moments…like silence, absorbs the mind, frees it of petty detail, and serves as a visual guide…a means for penetrating through the 'realm of multitudes'. The mind freed of 'logic' and 'formal definitions' can overcome the rational and cross into a world devoid of labels and categories. Where 'understanding' comes before analytical comprehension. Where the specificity of line, contour, pattern is done away with. Where 'meaning' is not sought anymore…in the rational sense. Where the picture does not 'fit' a category and does not articulate an 'ideal' recognizable form… It is then that it begins to appeal to our sense of shape…texture…tone…our feel for solidity. It allows us to roam free of restraint into areas of darkness and light…free to form other associations and form other alliances."

- Subir Chatterjee

Here's to living in the moment, no more regrets.....

Current tune: Come Rain or Come Shine - Billie Holiday

"Life is like Photography, You need Negatives to Develop"

Its been a year since my fingers felt the glossy feel of the film.
I never knew darkness to be so peaceful. Nothing on my mind but my film.
I love the smell of developer all over my hands. The way my eyes have to adjust to the light after being in the dark for hours. For once in a long time I didn't have anything on my mind...and I couldn't have been any happier. Life is like photography, you need negatives to develop, and I've developed my negatives, its time to live my life....


















Scanned in my contact sheets. The ones dotted red are my personal favorites. Give me some feedback on which ones you'd like to see complete and mounted......I'm thinking of a picture story exhibit..much more to come...I'm enjoying my new found peace in the darkness....

Current Tune: Ojala Pudiera Borrarte - Mana
Translated : I Can Only Hope I Could Erase You - Mana

Tools:
Honeywell Pentax
Nikon FM 10

Gelato

I don't normally blog about the events in any of my days, more or so my emotions or the current turmoil in my head, but today I want to blog about my Saturday....

I cant think of a time when I actually saw the clouds in motion.
I can remember them still and certain shapes, I can remember them slightly purple, sometimes red, but I cant remember ever seeing them in motion. Saturday they moved so fast across the light blue sky. I thought maybe the wind is blowing them back and forth, if that's even possible at all. It reminded me of a Jack Johnson song titled "Traffic in the Sky". I spent the day with my father. Something I rarely do. Our relationship has never been perfect, as a matter a fact I spent nearly all my childhood angry at him. It nearly got the best of me, the anger that is, until finally one day I let it go and my once bloated chest could finally breathe normally.I suppose it took experience and time to realize that because you have a child doesn't necessary mean your a "parent". Becoming a parent is just as much a journey as becoming anything else. Since then our relationship has improved very much. I have very much to thank him for....not just in regards to putting me through school, clothing me, and sheltering me, but in regards to making me truly see and experience life. Because of our relationship I feel I developed quite differently , struggled quite differently and overall developed a strength that no other "lesson" could have given me.

We spent the day moving around from house to house as he worked hard to do estimates and job follow ups. From Potomac to Takoma Park, Washington DC and Riverdale. I never really listen when he speaks to me. I suppose the anger always got the best of me and I figured anything he had to say would only be more hurtful words. I listen now and hes a pretty funny guy, we are certainly identical in regards to how stubborn we can be and how we can say things to people without holding anything back, and soon realize that we really didn't mean what we had said.. We both have anger issues as well. He has a story that I have yet to hear, I know I'd understand him a bit more if I heard it, but I'm afraid to ask. I'm afraid to know the struggles he endured and the lessons he shouldn't have had to learn at such a young age. We had a lot of time to talk, we mostly spent it discussion my job. Discussing our favorite show "Bizarre foods" and reminiscing over authentic Mexican food. We laughed alot and the clouds continued there fast-paced motion through the sky. We sat there enjoying our meal as we discussed home, the good times we had, the smells that reminded us of our lovely home. It hit me then, its been 3 years. 3 long exhausting years since I've been home. I've always missed it, but sitting here with my father I felt a deep despair and void in my heart. I miss home. I miss waking up to the roosters and the cattle herders early in the morning. I miss getting on my bicycle early in the morning and going for freshly baked bread . I miss the quick climate change, cold in the morning, mid 90s during the day and low 50s during the night. I miss it all. I miss my Mexico....I said to my father, I know, I know he replied. Our quesdillas seems like dirt compared to our thoughts of a freshly made quesdilla made in a stand in El Pueblo. "Lets go home" my dad said, "Yes lets I replied with a smiled". We made our way through Riverdale, Langley Park, Takoma Park, Silver Spring, Bethesda and finally Georgetown to our next estimate. "Let me meet with one more client and then I have a surprise in store for you" my father said. I waited outside and continued to look to the sky as the clouds continued on there path. This time they were a bit gray and seem to indicate possible rain. As I waited for him I thought about the sky in Mexico, I understand the sky is something we all share, but I'm convinced the clouds vary. 20 minutes later my father came back, "lets take a walk" he said. We walked to a place called Dolcezza and had our pick of freshly made gelato....

I truly love and respect that man.

My Current Mood-Described by a play list:

*Chasing Pavements - Adele
* Hard Times - Alice Russell
* Places I Remember - The Beatles
* Hey Jude - The Beatles
*Come Rain or Come Shine- Billie Holiday
* Fix You - Coldplay
*All At Once - Jack Johnson
* Traffic In the Sky - Jack Johnson
* The Scientist - Coldplay
* A Beautiful Mess - Jason Mraz
* I Love, You Love - John Legend
* In A Sentimental Mood - John Coltrane
* Castles Made of Sand - Jimi Hendrix
*In The Sun - Joseph Arthur
* Wonderwall - Oasis
* Painters Song - Norah Jones
*

Some Sketches and Paintings

Mixture of Oil, Arylic and Permanent Marker


Acrylic Pen

Both Charcoal sketches, trying to map out ideas for some new paintings.


Unfinished Oil Permanent Marker
On Canvas


Oil on Cardboard Black and White postcards with Acrylic touch
On Cardboard

Photography

Some of my black and white prints,
excuse the quality, pictures were taking with camera phone.






Taken with my Nikon FM10 :)

Old School..

Decided to take some entries from my old Xanga and re-post them...

Tuesday, July 12, 2005:

*~ It seems the more I do ....
The more I fail ...It seems the more my heart warms
the more my soul dries ....
It seems I never get a break ...
I never get a chance ...so why try ...why try if I fall..... every single time ....
Im done trying ...Im done being ..Im done with so much ...life has nothing more ....
*~Its days like this I realize that Ive done something wrong
It seems like G_d is always punishing me ...
He must know that at times I don't believe in him
Only at these times really ...
Only when so much is wrong ...when all Ive done was try .....I don't want this ...
I just don't know why I try....

Wednesday, July 06, 2005:

A real Entry.....
I'm tired of being no body ..... I want to be someones everything
I want to spend endless hours on the phone I want to be told that I'm loved ....Guess that's why Ive be like Ive been ...I'm just so anxious to have someone in my life I wanna make someone happy I want to be happy.UGH sometimes I just wish I could go somewhere
Meet someone and be happy even if there will be fights
and tears I'm willing to cry for someone ....Willing to do so much ...I hate this anxiety I wish it would go away ....

*Umm yea -be careful what you wish for...eerie (11/13/2008)*

Thursday, June 30, 2005:

*~ How do two words bring connection to each other ....
they say love is held in the heart ....
according to Webster blood is held in the heart....
its a vital organ to our system ...without it we cant live....
Such a vital organ that pumps blood
Blood this substance we need for everyday life.. ..
is that were the love is held..
is that how it reaches every inch of our body ....
is that how it invades our thoughts ...
destroys our minds ...leaving us helpless leaving us useless without it...
Love nothing more then a mere thought..Nothing more then a thought, and idea ....
Nothing substantial ....Nothing real.....Yet why is it you can Feel it on the lips of your lover..
Why is it you can breath it in from the breath of the one you hold dear...
why is it you can see it in their eyes .....
Why is it you can feel it when you hold them tight.....
its unreal ....yet so real
controlled by the heart ..
stopped by the mind ....just simple organs .....and nothing more...*~


*I suppose the one thing Ive always contemplated deeply is love....still cant get my head around the thought....interesting...(11/13/2008)*

Tuesday, June 14, 2005:

Painting this today...

This is beauty to me......

*~ Some thing that was created through feelings and emotions..

Something not so keen to the eye ....

Something a little distorted to the mind...

Something that makes you look twice...

Something that makes you want to know more ....

Something that appears to carry nothing .......

Unless broken open..... Within lies the beauty ......~*

Sunday, June 12, 2005:

~ * As I pulled up there she was ....standing with the group of forgotten kids. she opened the door and with a big smile said hello......wheres your mom she was ask? I dunno shes out I think ......did she know about this special dance? she was asked yet again .......yes she did ...she responded ...her voice now lowered....wheres you dad?....did he know? .....yes he did ....then where is he now?.....I dunno I dunno she responds as she struggles to change the subject ....it was my last dance....I'm moving on to high school now...her head raised with a huge smile.....yet her eyes just couldn't lie .....Those parents of yours how could they forget about you ?......what if we weren't around who would have picked you up ?.....I dunno I dunno.....as she bit her lower lip....this time her answers were distant as she looked out the window.....who would have been there for me ....she began to wonder.....if the people who brought me to life could forget about me how could anyone else remember?...she wondered......you look beautiful I said to her......are you excited about going to high school I ask her?......she looked at me ....eyes full of tears....smiled ....and said .....cant wait.....The next day I heard she was caught drinking and smoking with a group of friends....next thing I hear shes having sex with anyone who appears in her way....next thing I hear shes pregnant........next thing I hear shes been raped.......13 I think ....that's a young age.....if only I could have said something more then are you excited about high school ?.......If only I could have found a way to be there for her instead of just have her assume I was there .....she only searched for love .....she only looked for company...now shes fighting .......shes losing .....shes losing....her search for love lead her down the wrong path all I can see in my mind are those big brown eyes.....that big huge smile that seemed to have no end......those sames eyes now I see ...but they no longer glow ......they hold so many fears ....fears that a little girl shouldn't have....problems a little girl shouldn't have to deal with ........those eyes that once held so much innocence ...now were blank .....I watched her as she held her child....a child her self I thought....a child herself.....A child who only searched for love ,love that turned that child into a full grown women .....~*

*I wrote this piece about one of my younger cousins...before she ended up pregnant at 15...sigh....I was so young then I really didn't know how to help? ((feeling useless for using excuse))- side note: she wasn't raped, that was just something I added ...keep in mind I didn't think she would really end up pregnant at such a young age... 11/13/08*

Thursday : 11/13/08

I think that's good for today, Ill re post some others another time.
Its amazing to reread those posts and recall where my mind was at during that time
period...Ive grown so much since then...and I'm much more stronger....Had to go through alot
of tough patches but I'm glad they came up because they made me stronger....I'd also like to think I'm a lot less emo? LOL I'm much more optimistic....I'm glad to be able to see such grown, it gives me hope that Ill continue to grow :)

Current Tune: Lost Without You - Robin Thicke
* Def in that dreamy type of way...looking up at the moon
and knowing that my special someone is out there...((HA!)) - that was cheese LOL but oh well I'm a dreamer :)

Lyrics verse of the day:

"Relax yourself girl, please set-tle down...
Honey, check it out,
you got me mesmerized
With your black hair and fat-ass thighs
Street poetry is my everyday..."

Special Guest....

I'd like to share two amazing poems,
by the lovely and talented J.M.

Gay Enough

What is “gay enough” to be real

for the first time this week

in black and white

i was asked

what is your sexual identity?

(side bar: this information of course was optional to disclose and yet the mere fact that it was written on this application means you want to know and now it’s really no longer optional for me to think about how you’ll react, nor is optional to not think about)

and i stared at that blank line

and felt blank inside

well, not blank, but unanswerable for the first time

that privilege not to think about it, not to hesitate about the answer

was gone

one line isn’t long enough for my life story

my coming out

my own internal debate in my head to label myself

why do I need to label myself

i know who i am and it does not fit on a line

but because you’re confused

and you don’t understand

i am forced to find a word to put on that line

to make you feel better, to help you understand

how is it that you can date a man

call him the one

then abandon the idea and fall in love with a woman

you want to call me a lesbian

and i do, do, do love the way my heart beats with hers

you want to call me a confused straight woman

because i still do love him, love him to the core

you question, you ask

what are you

who am i

i am perfect my mother says

i’m perfect she says

i’m perfect

put that on your line

11.8.08

Some Equation

i can’t ignore, some equation

i’ve been waiting to solve and choose

catholic school + catholic school + catholic school

= 25 years to realize i am gay

and it’s weird to say that because

well, i’ve thought about men for a long, long time

the white dress, the big house, and the picket fence

so how does that honor the word

the struggle

the fight

of the women i now love

how does that misdirect the privilege i’ve had for a long, long time

wait

the privilege i still have

because maybe I’m not gay enough

to scream it to the whole world

and i’m scared to share my story

it’s still too short to tell, all the details are not there

i don’t want you to think, no,

i don’t want to be a disabled fuck

after you wake up next to me and realize

wait

you haven’t been gay your whole life

wait

this wasn’t always your reality

and then you leave

in fear that i’d leave you first to return to that privilege

the white dress, the big house, and the picket fence

like I’m not strong enough, gay enough

to release myself from that past

and into your beautiful body

that makes my own body tremble

11.8.08

*When I read poems like these, I thank god he surrounded me with such talent...Expression is everything...even if the words don't come out just how you had them formulated in your mind...That just makes them even more unique....Thank you J.M. for sharing your form of expression...

H.Hesse and my Heart

The Painter

By: Hermann Hesse

Translated By: Jack Zipes

During his youth a painter by the name of Albert did not manage to achieve the success and effect with his pictures that he desired. Therefore, he withdrew from society and decided just to satisfy himself. He tired this for many years, but it became more and more apparent that he could not do this either. One time, as he sat and painted the picture of a hero, he kept thinking, "Is it really necessary to do what you're doing? Do these pictures have to be painted ? Wouldn't it be just as well for you and everyone if you would merely take walks and drink wine? Aren't you just confusing yourself by painting, forgetting who you are , and passing the time away?" These thoughts were not conducive to his work. In time Albert's painting stopped almost completely. He took walks. He drank wine. He read books. He took trips. But he was not satisfied by doing these things. He was often compelled to think of how he had first begun painting with certain wishes and hopes. He recalled how he had felt and wished that a beautiful, powerful connection and current would develop between him and the world, that something strong and vigorous would vibrate incessantly between him and the world and generate soft music. He had wanted to express his innermost feelings and satisfy them with his heroes and heroic landscape so that the outside world would judge and appreciate his pictures, and people would be grateful for and interested in his work. Well, he had not found any of this. It had been a dream, and even the dream had gradually faded and become hazy. Then, wherever Albert was, traveling through the world or living alone in remote places, sailing on ships or wandering over mountain passes, the dream began returning more and more frequently. It was different from before , but just as beautiful, just as powerful and alluring, just as desirable and glimmering as it originally had been. Oh, how he yearned to feel the vibration between himself and everything in the world! To feel that his breath and the breath of the winds and seas were the same, that brotherhood and affinity, love and closeness, sound and harmony would be between him and everything! He no longer desired to paint pictures in which he himself and his yearning would be portrayed, which would bring him understanding and love, pictures that were intended to explain, justify, and celebrate himself. He no longer thought about heroes and parades there were to express and describe his own existence as picture and smoke. He desired only to feel that vibration, that powerful stream, that fervor in which he himself would turn to nothing and sink, die, and be reborn. Just the new dream about this, the new, reinforced yearning for this, made his life bearable, endowed it with something like meaning, elevated it, rescued it. Albert's friends, insofar as he still had some, did not understand these fantasises very well. They saw only that this man lived more and more within himself, that he spoke more quietly and strangely, that he was away a great deal, that he took no interested in politics or business, in shooting matches or dances, in clever conversations about art, or in anything that gave his friends pleasure. He had become an odd person, somewhat of a fool. He ran through the gray, cool winter air and breathed in the colors and smells of this air. He ran after a little child who sang la la to himself . He stared for hours into green water, at a bed of flowers, or he absorbed himself, like a reader in his book, in reading the lines and cuts in a little piece of wood, in a root or turnip. No one was concerned about Albert. At that time he lived in a small city in a foreign country, and one morning he took a walk down a street, and as he looked between the trees, he saw a small lazy river, a steep yellow clay bank, and bushes and thorny weeds that spread their dusty branches over landslides and bleak stones. All at once something sounded within him. He stood still. He felt an old song from legendary times strike up again in his soul. The yellow clay and dusty green, or the lazy river and steep parts of the bank , some combination of the colors or lines, some kind of sound, a uniqueness in the random picture was beautiful, was incredibly beautiful, moving, and upsetting, spoke to him, was related to him. And he felt vibrations and the most fervent connection between forest and river, between river and himself, between sky, earth and plants. All things seemed to be set there unique and alone so that they could be reflected just at this moment, coming together as one in his eye and heart, so they could meet and greet each other. His heart was the place where river and grass, tree and air could unite, become one, enhance one another, and celebrate the festivals of love. When this thrilling experience had repeated itself a few times, the painter found himself enveloped by a glorious feeling of happiness, thick and full, like a golden evening or a garden fragrance. He tasted it, It was sweet and thick, and he could no longer bear it. It was too rick. It became ripe and was filled with tension. It aroused him and made him almost anxious and furious. It was stronger than he was, tore him away. He was afraid that it would drag him down with it. And he did not want that. He wanted to live as intensely as he did now. One day he was silent and alone in his room as though he had just been intoxicated. He had a box of paints standing in front of him and had laid out a piece of cardboard. Now, for the first time in years, he was sitting and painting again. And it stayed that way. The thought- "Why am I doing this?"- did not return. He painted. He did nothing more expect see and paint. Either he went outside and became lost in the pictures of the world, or he sat in his room and let the fullness stream away again. He composed picture after picture on cardboard, a rainbow sky with meadows, a garden wall, a bench in the woods, a country road, also people and animals, and things that he had never seen before, perhaps heroes or angels, who however, became alive like wall and forest. When he started circulating among people again, it became known that he had resumed painting. People found him quiet crazy, but they were curious to see his paintings. He did not want to show them to anyone. Yet they did not leave him in peace. People pestered and forced him until he gave an acquaintance the key to his room. He himself departed on a journey. He did not want to be there when others saw the paintings. People came, and soon there was a great hue and cry. They had discovered a spectacular genius, to be sure, an eccentric, but one who was blessed by God, and they began using sayings to describe him that are used by experts and speakers. In the meantime Albert had arrived in a village, rented a room from farmers, and unpacked his paints and brush. Once again he went happily through valleys and mountains and later reflected all that he experienced and felt in his paintings. One day he learned from a newspaper that many people had seen his painting back home. In a tavern while drinking a glass of whine, he read a long, glowing report in the newspaper of the major city. His name was printed in big letters int he heading, and there were numerous fat words of praise through the article. But the more he rad the stranger he felt. "How splendid the yellow of the background shines in the picture with the blue lady-a new, incredibly daring and enchanting harmony!" "The art of the expressions in the still life with roses is also wonderful. Not to mention the series of self-portraits! We may place them alongside the great masterpieces of psychological portrait art". Strange, strange! he could not recall having ever painted a still life with roses, or a blue lady, and as far as he knew, he had never made a self-portrait. On the other hand, the article did not mention the clay bank or the angels, the rainbow sky or the other pictures that he loved so much. Albert returned to the city. He went to his apartment dressed in his traveling clothes. People were going in and out. A man sat by the door , and Albert had to show a ticket in order to enter. Of course, he recognized his paintings. Someone had, however, hung placards on them , unknown to Albert. "Self-portrait" could be read on many of them, and other titles. He stood contemplatively awhile before the paintings and their unfamiliar names. He saw it was possible to give these paintings completely different names that he had done. He saw that he had revealed something in the garden wall that seemed to be a cloud to some, and that the chasms of his rocky landscape could be the face of a person for others. Ultimately, it was not all so important. But Albert desired most to all to leave again quietly and to travel and never return to this city. He continued to paint many pictures and gave them many names, and he was happy with whatever he did. But he did not show his paintings to anyone.

*This is beautiful in every aspect....
I think I've read this piece about 10 times....
Can't help but to highly relate and see myself as Albert, minus the fame....
I think Ill read it about 10 or more times...

Fall

What you loved and what you strove for,

What you dreamed and what you lived through,
Do you know if it was joy or suffering?
G sharp and A flat, E flat or D sharp,
Are they distinguishable to the ear?

- H. Hesse

I usually stay indoors now and days,

Ive seem to lost my touch for wanting to be out doors.

Although this passed Saturday I jumped to the opportunity to rack leaves.
I find myself wanted to run back to my childhood, of course because things back then were
so simple. I remember when we used to have this huge tree in our front yard, every fall it
would cover our entire hill with various shades of red, brown, orange, and yellow. My father would tell us it was our duty to make sure he could see only the color green. The rack was bigger then we were, yet there we were trying our best to clean it all up. I remember how much we despised it and how it took forever and for what? So that more could fall down again. We would eventually give up and jump into the pills we had already made, throwing the leaves as high as we could.
So now here I am 21, the rack is no longer larger then me and I no longer despise the falling of those leaves. It was amazing to see how they cover the entire lawn, just like snow.
With every rake I cleared the ground for some more to fall.
More attempts at raking and the leaves kept falling as though mother nature was teasing me.
It only made me smile this time and took me back to those simple days when I was a child.
The light breeze only made it better, the leaves just kept on falling. I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes shut. I felt a strong connection to those leaves falling.
Change I thought.
Change, I rake, you fall, I rake, you fall.
I spent so much of my time in my thoughts, working through them.
Trying to avoid them,
Trying to fix them.
I kept telling myself it would only be a matter of time..
Time would bring on that much needed change.
Yet here I stood, raking up the past and leaving space for change.
The seasons where changing and time, time that I very much ask for was granted to me.

It only took my true and complete observation.

*To become a human being is art.....

Photography-Wanty

Me

I've always been so caught up trying to figure out my thoughts.
Listening really hard to the way my mind moves from one thought to another.
I wish I could say I appreciate the fact that I take so much time to hear myself out,
but I don't.
I'd really prefer to be caught up with the noise of traffic on the busy 495 highway.
No matter what time of the day there always seems to be heavy traffic.
I used to jog on a path adjacent to the highway all summer long.
There use to be this spot,
Two trees and a wooden bench on the side of the path.
I would just sit there and watch the cars drive by.
Some at a fast pace and others at a much slower one.
I'd let me thoughts run races with each car.
Some days I attempted to stick to the simple thoughts,
Thinking how I was going to pay off my credit card bills,
What I was going to cook for dinner,
but seeing those cars drive by I couldn't help but to have my thoughts race
to the future.
Where will I be? Who will I be?
If the future wasn't enough, I would race back to the past,
Why did I do that? Why do I feel like that?
I think to much.
I'm tired of thinking, it gets me no where.
I sit there stuck on that wooden bench watching cars drive by.

In three or so days I've had everything fall into place,
Not really what I wanted, honestly what I need though.
For the first time in a long time I felt free.
Just me.
I've been struggling with situations in the past.
I've hurt her time and time again,
I've hurt her so many times I don't know how to go back and fix it all.
But it just hit me,
The best way to fix it is by letting her go.
I thought I let her go a long time ago,
but I really hadn't, I still held on to her as comfort
I lived off the fact that she had so much love for me. That they had so much love for me.
I never gave them anything in return, I just took there love and had it give me that high I needed.
Now its just me and I can breathe.
I feel brand new.
I don't want to lose this feeling.

I yearn to listen to some deep tunes,
I have a feeling that I wont be thinking so much of anything anymore....

Current Tune: Slow Dance - John Legend

*Girl, I just wanna slow dance with you....*

Roses

I like red roses, white ones too.
Chocolate?
I 'd prefer a basket with fresh strawberries.
I never meant to hurt her.
That really was not my intention.
We first met in September, I was really young then.
I remember every detail, down to the white coral necklace she wore that day.
The field was ample and smelled of freshly cut grass.
I was just like her,
When we are thrown into a new setting with new people we tend to seek those that we most resemble.

She was like me and I was like her.

I prefer my roses with thorns, its a pleasant reminder of how beautifully complex life is.
How can such an alluring creation hold such a hidden pain?
As a child I used to pick roses.
I remember my first rose.
It was a dark red shade, fully bloomed.
You could see the tiny white veins in every petal, only if you looked really hard.
I reached for it right away,
convinced this captivating image was mine to have.
I grabbed the stem hard and felt a sharp pain in my finger tips.
The captivating image of the rose soon began to blur as tears filled my eyes.
Looking down at my finger tips I noticed a similar color to that of the rose, it was then
I knew that beautiful things could cause harm.

She was like me and I was like her.

We stuck together during those days on the field.
We became close and I tumbled into her warmth and smile, convinced there was something strong.
She seemed so lonely to me and all I wanted to do was take her pain away.
But really it was I that needed her.
I had pains of my own,
My resolutions to them always involved the flow of the color red from my left or right wrists or forearm.
I thought I had the answers to it all.
My simple escape and release of my pains.

She was like me and I was like her.

She cared for me beyond anything I ever could expect.
She gave and gave and never stopped.
I became her secret undiscovered treasure.
I thought I was in love.
It felt good to be adored, to be loved and to be the universe to someone.
Thing is I didn't understand how to correspond.
Instead I quickly found interest in another love, then I just became open to any kinda of love.
Years went by, to be exact two and still she stood strong.
Promises I would change and love her right ; kept her holding on.
I was overcome with everything I'd become to her.
I knew I really wasn't in love, I was in love with how much she was in love with me.

She was like me and I was like her.

I never meant to be the reason she would cry endless nights.
I never meant to be the her one single hope in love and I never mean to crush those dreams at all.
I tired my hardest to love her, but I knew the right thing was to let her go.
Let her find someone that would love her naturally and wholeheartedly.

She was like me and I was like her.

I have verses and feelings I cant express now.
I find myself in love and on my knees beginning these feelings to part from my thoughts.
I have sleepless nights,
I have tear-filled nights,
I have hopeless thoughts,
I never expected this new distant shadow to enter my heart and produce emotions I never thought I could feel.

She was like me and I was like her.

Now we both suffer and someone should really cue Justin Timberlake...

I like red roses, White ones too, Thorns please because she was like me and I was like her.


*Random Thought- I really do like strawberries, grapes too. I'm really tired, but oddly content. I suppose its faith. Things might not be the way I'd like them to be but I can see clearly the signs that everything will fall as it needs too. I suppose I just find myself a little anxious to get this master plan on a roll. I need to stop and realize its alright rolling.
There was a much older gentleman on the bus today. He was so beautiful. When his large over sized glasses fell down his nose he would pout his lips to the left and proceed to raise them back into place. I miss my grandfather. I wanted to walk that gentleman home and cook him warm chicken soup, then have him tell me all about what the world was like when he was young. Then maybe he could recommend some unknown fascinating novels.

Current tune: Offically Miss You (Remix) by Tamia ft. Talib Kweli