The Art of Documenting Self

I spend this evening with writers, one famous? Maybe, more, all are published and two prolifically. I couldn’t tell you their names—well, not last sur’s. And all night they talk about the little money to be earned doctoring this craft (especially witch-doctoring I note in who gets the air to speak), and I who have no book gathered, nor published, though I paint with words nearly every day, drive home thinking how I am an amateur in that delightful way that Robert describes, those who catch butterflies just because they love colors and flutters and not because they collect and pin down a scholarly Oxford paycheck.

Children after moths who are, as always, attracted to flames--you see, there are some who are in the story (like pretty much all the individual grains of sand) and only a few who are simply those who believe they elevate to live, voyeuristically these scenes, the life of art, the art of living, unfold, pour the sands through the hourglass, the soap of Days, more keyed about how they saw the story, yes, after the fact! And, how talking a slice of all perspective, mouth to paper, creates a gleaming Christmas ball, a thin shelled sphere that in whole spins catches and reflects holy glow and here, I must also add, I’m bored to death with politics when there’s a GOD!

How small we seem when we only see our own star, a pinhole pressed through black cloth, the one that shields us from a too bright, brilliant expanse, a rainbow bridge where black and white meet violet, sapphire, emerald green, carnelian and every bricked spot of poppy jasper gift your dead grandfather pitches at you from the foaming, frothy, roaring sea! Veils and midst’s and secret handshakes pulled apart, freshly cored hearts, way down poetic, under the ocean, Hail Atlantis, where I want to be!

Video Credit: Carlos Lara via youtube

P.S. Talking topics included logging, lawsuits, Organic, fracking, rivers, Woody Guthrie, Rolls Royce's, working class London dialects, Vietnam War, father's and American men of a certain age and especially, with very specific and pointed importance, garlic. And, these are the colors of a lifetime of stories, a book, freewrite prompts to last months?

P.S.S. And praise for Steemit being this log of thought, where there are artists gathered in incorruptible, out-of-corporate, no matter splatter ;)