Reading harold_maude's journal

This is a long post...:)

a day of celebration. A day off.

This afternoon I sit here listening to Ruffus Waynright. A very talented aritst, who was at one point in his young life an
opera singer.
His voice is like listening to velvet that is dancing in the sun. And for all the ladies out there, he is as delicious to look at as the sound of his voice.
Enough to give Antonio Bandaris a run for his money in the view of a beautiful work of living art. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I reconize physical beauty. I know it fades, but just as getting lost in the beauty of a waterfall can capture me,
and the words of a poet who's heart is so on fire for the word that it aches in his bones.
And this same poet gets completely lost in the rythems and chords of dreams entwined with waves of electric sound, that the rest of the world is known as music.

So it goes. I love art. Everyone who has ever stopped to read my wanderings of the overloaded mind knows that.
I even went so far to discribe how deep this love goes and that I really am so passionately in love with art that I put
up 3 peices of art for all of you to get an idea of what the end result of this love affair with art has produced.

I love how it feels to draw a paintbrush filled with light drenched color and sparkeles that I put in the pain on purpose
to add to the work, across the softened skin of a sheet of white watecolor paper.
How it runs up and down my body like some tender caress that lets me know I'm home.

I love to get lost in the wonder of a journey unfolding before my eyes.

It's alot like getting the news that 9 months from now your going to me half yourself.
And the other half will be someone you shared a deep full filling passionate moment with. And if you are so lucky
to still be walking with that person, sharing their lives, learning to love them more everyday,
then you are rich beyond words.

So you begin. A journey about life. A journey of unknowns. And a journey of who you are. In a way that would
never have happened if you hadn't enjoyed that moment with someone you wanted to love right then, right there.

And it's magic really. Here are these two parts. Female and male. Two halves. And they come into contact and caboom!
Life. A beginning like no other in all the universe.
A new creation.
All at once. There it is. The two become one. And that creates the first platonic solid of sacred gemotrey.

That blows me away. It's a magnificiant reality that tells me that what I have known all my life in every cell
of my body is the same all over, everywhere.
In fact it's such a reality and truth that the whole universe does the same thing when something new is being created.

How small we are in the light of the cosmos.
A single thought.
For a brief moment
a shooting star
that blazes across the sky
making the eyes of the universe
stop and take notice.

This is what it's like for me when I paint. How quiet, how powerful and how magnificant.
Everytime. It's like this.
and all I want to do with my whole life is have that all the time.

There are other things I love too. Not as much. But just as strongly. Just as passionately, and it makes my life
an adventure all the time.
I don't remember the last time I was bored.

I can be all by myself for days and I'm so content and so busy in that place that even day and night disapear for me.
I love it.
I'm lucky too in that way. I love it when on the rare occasion someone does show up that stays around for a while,
and there is no pressing need.
Just hanging out, having a good time bulshitting, and talking about everything that means anything.

But at the same time, I'm ok if no one shows up. In my life I can count how many times that has happened.
And thoes that are no longer in my life, I remember them. Details and conversations. The color of their eyes,
and their laughter.
I remember tears and other bits of the important things about a person your getting to know.

and they are all still here. Right here. In my heart. My mind and they are part of my soul and skin too.
"Smiles....it's like having a box of animal crackers that you carry with you everywhere you go.
And any time you want you can pull out one of thoes animals and dream and remember.
(I know, you eat animal crackers...but it was a good illustration none the less.)

This is the problem with writing long entries. I get so side tracked. :)
It's all important. Things that matter.
Not stuff that you put in a box and hide in some back closet. This is stuff that makes up me. It's the same when
you write.
Everytime you put one word down on paper or on your journal, your putting a little bit of you on that page.
And because of that it's powerful.
A living thing. You can change the world one word at a time.

You can simply write the word "yes" And to anyone who reads that word they will immeadately thing of something.
What did you think of when you saw that word?

What that tells you is that what you write is powerful enough to catch the attention of people passing by.
Even if they are asleep they will see it.
Everything we see is stored in our brain. Sometimes that information goes into waiting.
Then something comes along and triggers that awake.
Boom! An explosion of power.

When you do anything that creates something new, wether it be a poem, a essay, a painting, clay pot, a song
a building, a house, a car...etc. we are releasing power.
The power to change things.
The power to make things better than they are.
The power to answer the question of a searching heart or a lonely soul.

And we go around, day to day missing it. We go to jobs and loose so much life there. And why?
Because the norms of the society we live in say that to be a good upstanding memeber of society we have to
have a job. And pay taxes.

That's insane. A true explain of what insanity really is.

Money, they say makes the world go round. Money, is the death of the path that leads to creative life.
That is unless you are one of the lucky to have a job that allows for the creative expression that exists
inside you.
I envy you. It would be like going to play all day and then get paid on top of it, everyday.
But at the same time I'm happy your there doing that wonderful creative thing.
You are the gatekeepers now.
And as long as in this world there are companies who need your services in anyway shape or form
the connection remains in the visual sight of the world.

I'm greatful to new film makers. I'm greatful that I'm alive durring a time when a man like Tim Burton
is making films.
And Jonny Depp is acting in them.
My world is lit up by watching their art. I get to see their dreams and visions. And I can do it anytime
I want.
I just have to watch a movie.

Everytime I read a post by someone, I get to see a little bit about them. I get a chance to hear someone
else's voice for a while.
It's nice. It's like listening to a really great peice of music in totall darkess.
No light to inturpt the voice.
Just me and that other person. Them, talking to me, from where ever they are. And although I know
they arn't writing for my soul bennefit, the written word has the power to make the reader feel that
the author is talking just to them.

that's the magic of words. And it's awesome. I love lines of books that start out by saying something
just as a simple statement. Like you walked in on someone talking out loud.
Like maybe there could have been a whole string of days and weeks that were all connected and they were
talking about it and you stepped into part way through....

when I read a poem that has been created by an artist lost in a moment
they are telling me about that moment.
And I can see by the look on their face that it is real.
Their eyes can't hide their heart in that moment.
And though they don't see me while the poem flows from their heart...
I am there.
Watching the tears fall from the eyes of a lover
who is lost in the depths of their heart breaking....

I'm seeing the clouds part
like great curtians that hold back the stars.
And as the curtians are drawn away,
the magnificant opera begins...

Their voice so beautiful, as to make me catch my breath.
They tell me things.....
And I am there.
At that moment.

And at that moment it doesn't matter to me if a thousand other people are reading it at the same time as me.
They are experienceing things too.

We are the captivated audience held in individual moments by the words of the poet.

And then there is music. Ah sweet surrender of the soul.
Harken to my voice oh muse
come to me and with honey in thy touch
sweeten the aching of my soul.

Again,
Oh sweet delight!
Again,
until my soul takes flight!

That is music. The genere doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if it's Beetoven or Def Lepord or Pink Floyd,
Or Jimmy Hendrix, or Chopin or Sound Garden, or Liz Story, or Marylin Manson, or Bach...
Or anyone else who plays music, or writes it or sings it.
All that matters is this:

that in the moment that music is released into the air and finds it's way to your ears, it carrys with it
the power to change your world.

The power to make you scream, cry, dance, laugh, feel like your riding a rocket, or that your lost in
some dream world.
That is music.

It is the eccestasy of the soul. The place where all of you gets emersed in a deep electric pool of liquid
velvet.
And it runs into every cell and says...."yes" :)

when I sit down and begin the journey of music on the keyboard, something happens to me.
I feel it penetrate me to my soul.
And it's like ...it's standing there...hand extended....a smile waiting for me....and says in that soft tone...
the one that makes me melt and go weak...
"common, lets take a walk"

Yeah it's that....

Each note takes me further and further away from everything. I can see the music in my head. Hear it in
my bones...
it's funny how sometimes when I'm searching through the notes it feels like going through boxes of color, looking
for that one color that showed up in this picture.
I'll know it when I see it.
And the horrible thing is I didn't make extra of that color and it's one of my favorites.
I should have kept a recipie book.

wish I could write music. That would be a recipie book for all the notes that have come together and led my fingers
on a really cool journey.
So someone who reads music could sit down and have the same experience I just had. Any time they wanted it.

When I think about people like Beetoven. How much music he wrote. And alot of it after he went deaf.
Can you immagine hearing and seeing the notes of huge complicated peices of music and knowing when you put
a note on a certian line that when it's played, the rest of the world will hear what you have?

And to keep all thoes different intstruments straight.....amazing.
Simply amazing.

All the people who compose music and can write it down as well as compose, are amazing. Just for the act of
being able to do that.

I wish I could actually write sheet music. But I never learned how. I can barely read sheet music.
A few peices that my sister who loves music and can play and read the stuff with such ease that it's amazing.
She taught music for a while.
And she loves duets. Classical peices.
And she worked with me for months to learn about 4 peices of classical duets.
I had to learn how to read thoes notes and traslate them to hand possitions to be able to play the music with
her.
When we see each other, that's one of the things we still do.
Sit down at a piano and play the duets.
And I have to read the music. And sometimes it's years between visits.
And it's just as hard now to read them as back then.
I felt most of the time like I was studdering through the peices.

She plays like I paint.

I've always wanted to learn to play the violin. And the harp, as well as the mandolyn.
And a gitar would be good too.
All very physcal instruments.
Part of it, is that you get to feel each note.
Like clay in the potters hands.

A rich delicious feeling. I can't play any of thoes insturments, but I've had the great fortune
of being allowed to touch and pluck strings now and again.
I love the feel of them, as the notes are released. I don't know what notes they are.
But each one feels like warm summer rain.
they run down my soul and make me smile.

All of this....comes from that place of art. The ancient language that ties all humanity together.
Gifts scattered like diamonds over time.

the eyes of the artist looks up
the sky
a brilliant azure...

unfold for me
the stories you hold

and change my world
by your presence...

change it forever.

It only looks that way because your standing on your head.