Proud was never something I wanted to be. I usually just wanted to understand what I couldn’t, but then I found there were things more terrifying than I could handle. I can handle more than most. I enjoy a lot of macabre and often disgusting fare, but there are places I dare not tread in the human world. I am a snowflake as they say. I grew up in a very blessed environment with every advantage I could imagine. Even when I fell to being a broken man, I had a cradle to carry me because of the love of my ilk. However in all of these things, because of my upbringing and my tutelage throughout life, I gained pride. Is my pride deserved? That’s certainly a matter for a spectator, and the show is longer than it’s worth. However, pride is something I’ve had for a very long time. I’m proud of my family, my work, and even my struggles, but pride has never helped me. Pride is more of a weight I carry and try to protect. It’s why I shave. It’s why I keep myself up. It’s why I seem to care. If I didn’t the facade would break and everything would be the lie that I am. My talents are but tricks. My skills are but luck, and all of it together encapsulates the mess that I try to keep together every single day. For oh so long. I’ve never known why I’ve done anything. It started because I wanted to play music with my brother. Then people mentioned I should do things because I was good at them. That was never why I wanted to do things.
Ysera
Pretty bird was just a phrase untill I met the shrew
And though you bit me countless times I loved you through and through
Your gorgeous greens and yellow crown and just a hint sapphire
Your pinpoint stare let any know they’re stepping toward the fire
We’d sometimes play the flappy game where I would flip you round
But what I loved the most of all was your reactions to the sound.
Of Björk the queen of random noise and songs you’d always sing
Well sings too strong, you lacked in such, but you’d give it everything
And almost always your pipe right up, needing to be heard,
I’ll love you forever, my green dragon gal, my precious, pretty bird. -DJS
Interesting Question…
How do you write what people actually want to read?
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I don’t know that I ever write what people want to read per say, but I write in rhythms hoping to help them feel. The words tend to match the beat, emotionally and pulse wise generally, especially if its poetry. If its a more free form piece or narrative dialogue I generally let the pulse of the piece build as I create it. I rarely write with the intent of people wanting to read as much as wondering if they will. I often write in a strong malaise of sadness and strife, but I’ve been told when I write for those I love it tends to be enjoyed more than not. SOOOOO… I guess if I wanted to write what people wanted I’d frequent expressions of love more, but its never been my go-to, always thing.
Pondering…
What do you do when you know your choice at the time is absolutely bunk, but all you can think of in the otherwise doesn’t really seem to meld in the life you’re currently living? Fancy free and singing out are wonderful and I miss it all the time, but right now there are many reasons I’ve chosen to sequester myself and embrace that which isn’t my joy. My joy doesn’t generally meld in my present living space in its most free form existence. I can’t be all of me while I’m here at least. I really never have been able to. The excessive profanity and sexual innuendo aren’t for everyone, but I don’t even know that I can grasp that as part of me anymore. Truly I guess I don’t know who I am right now. I know I want to play a drum set. I know embracing rhythmic expression in that sense of things may re-center a lot of my mind presently. Sometimes we’re just off beat, and that’s at least part of it. The beat chooses me when I play, but the question will be:will my body let me play it?
Spontaneity at its finest
What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?
I’m pretty regular most of the time, but I have spontaneously moved across the country twice in my life. Once from Alabama to Wyoming to help my friend take care of his dogs, and the other from Alabama to Texas in an attempt to embrace love as hard as I could. Both were grandly fantastic experiences with much growth gained and many lessons learned. Regularity always seems to come back around for me though.