| Tongue in Cheek |
[11 Apr 2006|02:28pm] |
I have no real Talent My Art is not my own I've taken bits and pieces From everyone I've known A phrase, maybe a stanza From a piece of Poetry I switch a word or two around And it belongs to me This painting I spent days on My shirt a paint-stain smear Please don't look at it too closely or the numbers may appear I collect all kinds of interests They're mostly from my Friends But sometimes I don't remember where They end or I begin My originality is false A creative fallacy I only want to be what they are Because I'm unhappy being me So I cut and paste the pieces And weave this Jigsaw web It may seem to you pathetic But its logic in my head
|
|
| On the subject of Muses.... |
[14 Feb 2005|03:11pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
contemplative |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
J.E.W. - Bleed American... |
] |
Or inspiration if you rather, either is correct...I find my muse to be fleeting at best, I've been told to name her, I considered that in depth until I realized that there isn't just one muse, I have many, My Muse is life and all of the aspects of it, from emotional depths to cloudy hights to give that a name more then "inspiration" would be to limit it to the meaning of that name....
To one day be inpired by the stars and name the inspiration to reflect that, then limits that muse to the realm of the night....
To be inspired by a tree and call the muse something that reflects nature, limits my muse to nature....
Rather then to call her "Life" and allow her to inspire me in all the aspects that reflect Life...
And, like life she is fleeting My Muse.
|
|
| Life as Art |
[28 Jan 2005|03:22pm] |
Writing Life as Poetry Little things inspire me A dewdrop on a blade Of grass The way the Wind brings Change to pass The flitter of a Butterfly And all the Stars Up in the Sky All these things And more I see they inspire my Life And the Poem That is Me.
|
|
| I am |
[28 Jan 2005|12:22pm] |
Gentle, Persuasive Submisive pervert
Believable liar Insane introvert
Wandering dark paths Then silent for days
I twist what I touch In strange subtle ways
Watching the movement Of the glittering stars
Now washing in Moonlight My new set of scars
|
|