Wake up dear.

“It’s All About Love” Photographer : Candida Performa (cc)

I wrestle with not wanting to be noticed, yet wanting to effect change. Sometimes I relish speaking my mind to brick walls simply because the act alone is quite zealous for me.  It’s as if by saying thoughts, thoughts come into being. I said it. Bam. It is. Like sifting though all the particles of mind to pick out the bad and distill the real.

It’s interesting how the world is manipulated. The only way the world can be good is if it can rise up in spite of itself. It’s not as if pain is pleasure, but the two are twined for now. We maneuver through the maze, trying not to step on each other. A dance of sorts, but a wearying one.

I’ll be glad to be older, the young years can be full of trouble and frailty. My only goal is to find goodness now so that it will stay with me when my roots set. I can feel myself turning 30, though it’s still a good 5 years away. Can’t say I ever lived the teenage dream, but then I can’t say one ever existed.


The People, The People.


Hollywood has a black heart of strings and mud – no sane person would deny this. But the people of that place are a sharp and passionate people. They have great masses of wisdom that have been stomped upon and discarded. It is true that often the wise fail to appropriate their wisdom to the proper use, but you cannot deny the fact that they do indeed know some measure of Truth.

They know it so well that they sell themselves to it. Their fragment is their spear into the yonder. The long nights of quiet focus. The shuffle from one inspiration to the next. The magic of fast food. The rare love. The echoes from starlit nights past.

But now we have it, a regurgitating of all the deceitful years. The filth is everywhere, the corruption is everywhere. The lost dreams are piled high, in a maze of prosperity.

And prosperity is their one claim to the goodness of the earth. They understand it in a tragic sort of way, to the point of forgetting it’s name.

There are fights to be fought there. It is a dark, dark place. I have been there once and despised that endless sun. But am I bitter because I haven’t joined the fray? No, I am so deeply moved by the countless interviews of its veterans I have seen. They are so brave, but so wrong. They hold so much tender truth in their hands, but they don’t understand. So much truth, so little light.