1718

Another day of random thoughts.

Earlier this week I was talking to someone about concentration, and how my external world affects my ability to focus. We aren't all the same. Personally I need a means of occupying my " monkey brain " or it will run rampant in my head. The worst thing I can do is to try to sleep or concentrate when I have a lot on my mind. I MUST have music or the drone of TV in order to occupy that part of my head. Once that part is engaged, the other parts are free to do the business at hand. I can be completely focused with music BLARING! Any kind of noise will do. Running water is a good one, though not terribly practical here at home.

Same with sitting down to write. I get going too fast if the monkey brain is loose ( Let's just give the monkey a name. It seems wrong not to call it what it is ... how about BUBBLES ... oh wait, I think that one is taken ... how about Basil. Yes, Basil ) . What I need to focus is the free flow of ideas. Basil likes structure. The rest of me hates it. The rest of me likes spontaneity.

I am a prolific writer. I always have been. I don't always bang out extraordinary stuff, but sometimes the REAL quality of what I am trying to say is lurking somewhere and it just takes a good eye and ear to catch it. It might be tucked away with some boring crap like tonight's entry. But once in awhile there's a little nugget of undeniable truth that slips out , and those are the kinds of moments I live for.

I've met fascinating people online through words. I have experienced a greater range of emotions in the ether, than I may have ever experienced in real life. I have made friends and found lovers, and online was where I met Kelly. Our written words were our beginning. She wrote me a letter a day and stole my heart. It actually didn't take long before we spoke daily on the phone. It was those written missives in the beginning that cemented our future. But there came a time when I needed those written words to be whispers . I needed to be with her. In real time, real space. I remember wanting five minutes, just five minutes . It would be enough time to commit to memory the map I would make of her body with my hands. I still remember running my hands across her face, the slope of her nose, the small of her back ... I still remember it to this day. I took five minutes. I shut everything else out ( even Basil ) and filed the memory of those moments in a safe place. Five minutes. It's taken longer to write about it. And tomorrow I will remember THOSE moments far more clearly than these.

Everything I do or say or attempt, changes me. Sometimes I suffocate my thoughts with too many words. Sometimes I don't say enough. I don't always know where my current barometer is set. Tonight I don't know. I am just giving in to a stream of consciousness and hoping the trip is eventful and the landscape is nice when I arrive.

My art has been changing these past few years. I used to create art out of nails and screws and bolts. Now it is mostly paper. I wonder what that says about me ? I don't know that it's really about becoming anyone other than who I am so much as it's about going deeper into myself. I think maybe I'm finding some softness beneath some jagged edges. I guess the goal would be to get to the core. I wonder what I'll find there ? I feel like I've been through the hot, molten years . And I've been through the rugged layers of growing up. I don't know what lies ahead ... but I really should focus ... pay attention... remain open...

I think I need some music ...