Muse-ings

2004-01-16 - 4:41 p.m.

There are stories waiting to be told. They don't line up in orderly queues; they gather like clouds, piling up in layers and obscuring the view. It's a good thing...let it rain. My fingers are aching to paint, but my brain's working at a slower pace than they are. I have to see it before I can make it. I'm starting to feel it, and the brain's catching up, seeing the general form coming into focus. I toyed with the guitar last night for a bit. I have been rolling poetry and beautiful words around on my tongue. This is all good.

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Pretend it's 10th grade. Leave me a note.

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