what can i say? i'm an eccentric woman.

got more soul

than a sock

with a hole.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Bubbly.

I just like that word, "bubbly". It has nothing to do with anything, but I was thinking about it.

I can never get my thoughts together. They never seem to connect. They never seem to make sense and THAT I am truly aware of. I really have no explanation for some of the things I write…most of the things I write. So…don’t expect this one to be any different. I’d describe my mind like a film – stills in motion flashing on screen, leaving on cue, lingering in your mind because you don’t understand what just happened in front of you. Did that even make sense? I don’t know, but it’s like that. I don’t know why, but it is. I always thought I had some sort of a chemical imbalance in my brain because of the things I thought of and the way they would be painted. Who knows? The things I see with my third eye are always distorted. I can imagine, but my imaginings are always sketches, scribbles of rough notes. I can only see myself clearly there. I wonder why I can’t see myself clearly here, outside of myself. When I look in the mirror, I haven’t a clue of who I should be or what I should do. I don’t make sense, really. I can’t understand myself, but I know myself. Maybe I just know everything I’m not and not everything I am. Hmm. Let’s dive…
I think I like to write things, things that I sense with my body, things that I create with my mind. I love the idea of words coming together to tell a story in the most uncanny ways. I love how the little things can create big things. I’m not one for technique or form, but I can dig a sense of honesty any day of my life. That’s what I love about writing. That’s what I love about music – how thoughts and feelings can be expressed through wordless sounds. I love how people can say so much by saying so little. In four minutes, a time can be told, a story can be heard. I love music. I love writing. Jazz is a music form that I adore dearly because of its freedom yet complicated technique. Complex simplicity is my delight I guess. Sound is key. For things to come together they have to sound right; not in the literal sense, but in the sense that there’s some kind of flow. That explains my need to constantly look up words and expand my losing vocabulary so that I make things sound right. But maybe I’m being too complicated? Maybe I’m trying to make something come to life that simply isn’t. I mean, I’m trying to fit this mould of a writer, because that’s what I think I’m good at. But I don’t know. Am I really good? Who’s to say? No fishing, I hate that. Fool’s gold only sits in that ocean. But what do I do with this thought? I want to make sense of it all, but I don’t know how. I’m lost at sea, trying to be a person other than me, and what I just can’t see, is me being me. I like being me, I love being me, so why am I always trying to run free? Why can’t I simply be? Live for today and tomorrow will come hopefully? I just can’t see this light in front of me. Simply believe? We’ll see. I try to keep my own pace, let others do as they please, but I can’t seem to shake this question at sea.