Of town. Had you going didn't I?
I'm going out of town for the week to see my daddy. I am a daddy's girl through and through. Twice. 'Cus I have two daddies. Biological and guardian. I love them both so much and I never really take the time to talk to them, or any family really. It's one of my more shameful attributes. And I am trying to reconcile that. You never know when the day could be their or your last.
Because I'll be out of town, I won't have internet connection. Actually, this is a scheduled post, as will the other posts for this week be. I don't know when I'll be able to get to the library to make sure I get this done for you, so I'm making sure I don't break my promise.
Also, being a writer, I ahve a few writer friends. Below is one piece by a very old friend. We shall call him M. M has been writing for as long as I've known him and I love his work. His talent is painting pictures with his words.
I imagine some smooth, low voice reading it aloud to me and it's a calming pool of bliss. If I could give you audio of that I so would. And now, on to the beautiful:
The air of the human element,
Reading, seeing, feeling that hidden power
Self illuminating deep textured spheres,
Colors, images, mesmerizing transparent eyes,
All wanting to share deep layers of melodious overtones
to love the drama and the rhythm of the word fused with sonorous language.
Divine rhythm, layered from earth scaling upwards
Flowers, trees, hills, colored essence rising
Spiritually reflected with sunset painted frescoes
The look of the sky changes, pictures presented like each unique mood
One by one they trace their lines,
Spreading flowery pink hues with glorious purple stains
Here, a sphere, here the song,
Hear the layers all gathered together
Each day, a set of new instruments traced together in the sky
Each day, wondering, how to bring them down
Look into my face and you’ll see a calm man
With his eyes in a different dream, always hearing what can’t be heard
But knowing it holds an intense beauty.
Each dramatic surge reads like the innate driving pulse
Constantly revealing, solemnly reveling
In deep orchestral colors, of which I can only share
Sad little fragments
That need to be gathered together,
Each theme carefully corresponding to
Surges, dreams, love, question, yearning
Peering over the edge into a reality that can be made
Hands raised towards the sky, gathering the motions, directing the current’s flow
The layering of evening colors harmoniously blended,
And over the land, voices raised in wordless tones,
Melodiously textured to reflect
the simplicity of colored fields to the eye.
Orchestrating the melody
Voice, upon voice, lovingly evocating simplicity
Contrast with those complex ones, more dissonant to the ear
Textured lightly, clearly, chromatic impressions
Strings seep through, singing continuously higher
guitar electric, light colored main voice, transition
layers of altered textured sounds carefully crafted and matched
to give voice to wordless internal reflective monologue.
Gentle, sad cycles, calling up to spiritual triumphant
Humble, pleading, thrown to mercy’s creative oblivion
To find answer, upon answer
Of the connection of image, motive, song
This one solo voice transformed into guiding textures
Blissful, cyclically striving,
Infinitely dynamically rich
Instruments may not exist to properly create that sound
The flow of each surge, the pulse of each colored breath,
Rising ever on, greater chords, painting liberation
with tones held away, inexpressible save by careful transposition
voices controlled deep before a thought becomes spoken word
deep before words, only this tone exists
to serve as mirror of all those moods, sanguinely reflected
the impenetrable space of truth in creativity.
So what did you think? Help me encourage M to post his work online. I want to know what you think in the comments below. Happy Monday!
