"If you go home with somebody, and they don't have books, don't fuck 'em." John Waters

Hands I have always had a love affair with hands, even when I was little. Hard earned, well-worn hands to be precise. I find beauty and safeness in them. I feel as if they know things and hold on to those secrets. Hands tell your story, even the ones you don't always share. They will remember all your firsts, like the smooth feel of ice on the pond, the nervous shaking when first behind a wheel, the burn from playing with the toasted marshmellows, the satisfaction of fixing something and making it work, the joy and frustration in drawing and painting, the comfort of soil when planting, that first touch of silk stocking and the current it created within, the initial touch of someone's skin, feeling the trace of lips, so soft and inviting. Hands hold your mysteries and show character, like the coloring of too many days in the sun, crooked fingers from forgotten adventures, scars from being careless with knives, strength from working them raw, the gentleness they show when holding someone's hand, the fire they hold when reaching for the object of their passion and the comfort they offer when words aren't enough.

Old Friend

He and I are old pals, for I have met this particular loneliness before. He likes to join me for long walks and tea. He shows up unannounced in words I read, lyrics I hear. Perhaps I should not let him in and allow him to get comfortable. But his face is so familiar. With every visit, I feel as if he has something to say and I am trying to listen. I just wish the silence was quieter.

What now?

You opened the gate
invited me in, then
you turned and went inside,
without a word.

What now?

A psychic, globally warmed truth serum

I am overflowing from conversations with constellations, wanting to inspire, provoke, invoke, evoke and tantalize. To be high on ideas, not things. To be less consumed with consumerism and embrace creativity. Look inward instead of outward. Experience splendor. To not always be pretty, blissful or esctatic. To be quirky, courageous, decorative, eccentric and socially unorthodox. Not be scared of freedom, recklessness and scandal. Show deviance and exuberance, spiritual splendor, texture, and color. Embrace the sensation, transgressive, explosive, and unsettled. Tickle, rattle, amuse, repulse and overthrow!

And onward I go. To the next part of my own story...