Thursday, December 9, 2010
A dark and dreary day she put citrine crystals in her pockets. Chase away the mighty gray with a hidden burst of sparkly orange. With any hope she had some holes in them there pockets, anything to release a few rays of glory on my dim outlook. As the phone rings I find that maybe she had a few worn seams. Sixty minutes later and I think my skin gained an unearthly glow that centered somewhere near my chest. Citrine in her pockets to ride throughout the day, shedding its spicy light affecting those in indigo crevices. How fortunate my soul to have such a chemical reaction to one who has never failed; always on my shoulder from miles and miles away. Who can believe the continuum reacts whenever my soul shudders in darkness? Yellow and gold; warmth to hot. Feeling alive with a simple gesture, words that make sense to only her and myself. Completely understand the meaning of our alien thoughts. Another planet may guide her; it bleeds to me. Citrine in her pockets
Monday, December 6, 2010
I am frightened. It's been over a week since I've looked at my finished manuscript, and longer than that since I've written in the unfinished one. Fear stops me, or is it something else? Deep inside I feel the empty hole where once many ideas festered. Now they've vanished - died and gone to heaven where other spirits perhaps enjoy them. Way up there in the sky where all good things go. Perhaps I will have to wait until I'm reborn from the other side. The parallel universe awaits. If only I could string together accurate thoughts in order to make it matter here on the not-so-awesome side. Too many distractions; excuses I create; my muse on hiatus or gone for good. I haven't a clue where to begin, so I come to my five minute gibberish pages where my words don't matter. They don't need an audience or an arena of skeptics and critics who can't wait to devour and dissect what crawls from my brain. Entertaining myself isn't what it once was, but I pray that my fears will work for me, give me the edge necessary to move forward. Make my mark so that I don't feel as if I'm living on the moon where weightlessness doesn't matter. Nothing to tether my spirit except exasperation over words struggling to surface. Where or where has my mentality wandered off? If only I could get it back for one second or perhaps an afternoon.