Tree Tops

Being alone is something I find myself preconditioned too. I am alone when I find the most inspiration, I am alone when I find nothing but myself, and I am alone as I walk these emerald hills. My burden is light, but my footsteps are heavy. My eyes look to the horizon, but my head hangs low. Nothing guides me but the speck of light in front of me. Where I am going I cannot say. Why I am going is a question my mind cannot see. My feet desperately churn back and forth, they are not savvy to my course, they are trying to escape. They seem foreign to me, hands searching for something, finding nothing. But I'm not searching, my eyes gave up on that a long time ago.

My course is straight, my destination just beyond this next hill. But the sun is setting, and the world has become a shifting mass of muted colors. The night has come - I tell myself the course is still straight. But as I shift my pack, I prepare for the jarring chicanes and the spartan switchbacks of twilight. My feet jig with excitement. They are in control now. My eyes can no longer find their way, the night is tied to my heart. The tide takes me in its embrace, I ebb with the grace of seaweed, my feet buoyed by the clear water. They are calm now, powerful in their control, precise in their kicks. I swim, drowning on the air in my lungs. But I am at peace, for I know the beach is just over this next wave. This next wave.

The sun rises, dawn tugs upon my mind. Cobwebs, strung across my conscience, evaporate into the fine mist of morning. The orb has not forsaken me for another, her voice reassures me - she was there through it all. Land returns to my feet, soil trickles through my toes. Hills climb before me, chasing the horizon. Eyes open, my blood flows, warmness a pinprick upon my stiff limbs. The new day has come, a blank canvas, anxious for brush of rebirth. Am I to be the artist? Is this what lies in my pack? I turn, meaning to open it. There is nothing there. But I can still feel it. It feels heavier. My feet kick, they seem more rebellious than before. My mind shifts, questions teetering on the edge. I shiver from the bite of morning. My feet churn forward; today will not be the day I stop, for I know my destination is just over the hill. I can make it.

An open sea is like an open door, both are limited by the threshold.

Cute Beanie

Metaphorically speaking, I like realism.

In reality, I like frankness.

Frankly, I quite like metaphors.

But that's just it isn't it? Everything falls back on itself. Everything comes back to you. There's nothing but you. Can you handle that? Or must your burden be on another's back? Mine is, but I lost them back at the fork in the road. Hopefully we meet up again soon, I'd really like my burden back. Woah, did you see that? Just now, it zoomed by. It was a double entendre. Wish you'd seen it. Oh hell, now I've lost my train of thought.. Oh yes, something about burdens. Ehh, too heavy of a subject. Look at that one! I swear this is a wit-shower, I just saw a pun-meteorite fly by. You saw it? What was your wish? Fine don't tell me, I don't want to know anyways.

The Founders met today - down in Ladera. Plans are going according to schedule. I can't wait for the towers to go up, they'll be such a nice addition to the landscape, and the people. I just hope it doesn't affect the piped-in frog noises, they help me sleep. At least when I'm sleeping in Ladera. Which is never. But you get what I mean right? Thank goodness you're so understanding.

Red Velvet Cake is good. And Chocolate. And Vanilla. All three for that matter, mixed of course. Where my Oreos at?

School wouldn't be the same without my power pole friends. They look so inviting and so protecting. Like two friends on night-watch at the campfire. Actually, I think I could watch fire forever, it's like looking into someone's soul. Flames lick the night sky, ashes curl lazily, embers glow contentedly, and the fire falls back on itself. But no matter what, there's always heat.

Actually, they're more like two English royal guards - minus the fuzzies.

Shadow Puppets

Stop saying you've changed. You never will. It's annoying - "New Resolutions" are the crutches and excuses of the lazy. You haven't changed at all, from what my records say you're still same ol' Mrs. P Sherman. So cut it and roll with the punches. Oh and by the way, I'm the only one allowed to quote lyrics, cause I wear cardigans.

Black and white, stream of consciousness writing, The Whitest Boy Alive. Logical fallacies, straw men and the TAR-21. Haircuts, Vans, triglycerides. Kafka, Steinbeck, Colin A. Adams, and Theodore Roosevelt. Chainsaws, email, other people's blogs, The Fundamental Theorem.

I can't be explicit with you, then I wouldn't have anything to hide behind. But I want to tell you everything.

Dancing is bliss, even with scuffed shoes.