Sunday, May 28, 2017

Be Yourself, or, Salt at the Door For The Night Hags

What I've got is that art ignites art.  This is more true than ever, at present.  There is art that, absolutely and without question, actually has a visceral impact on my body. My heart beats quicker, the ideas start storming, I can feel a hot warmth in my throat and upon my chest. 

Tonight things have been good. Really good. So good that you find yourself slightly sunburnt and sitting on a stoop talking about shit that matters. So good that you're up at midnight eating chocolate cake with one of your favorite people in the world and talking about how your heart can't stop beating so fast from the consistency of sound and image brilliance you both just witnessed.


I've been thinking a lot about love and how much it means to mean when people can call each other out and neither of us is too big of a baby to own it.  I love it.  A while and a step back, there were too many people in my life that were too soft for my liking. Too soft to be able to find their legs and stand for what was right or aimed for. Too soft to hear someone tell them Look, man. You're smart, but you gotta act right and stop acting like people owe you shit for your parents being dickheads.  Things like that.

Anyway.  That's in the past now.

Now, it's nice. Talking with people secure enough to love themselves and other people.  Making phone calls to Madrid because why the fuck not? Getting packages from London because sweetness, I'm here for you.  Writing letters to Chicago because, of course I am.

Life can be hilarious in the number of doors it will slam in your face.

Good thing I've always climbed in through the windows.


P.S. I've been listening to Charlamagne tha God's book (the audio version that he narrates), and I am currently living for it on multiple, multiple levels.

(image: Chaim Soutine Red gladiolis, 1910 via lecollecteur tumblr)