crispy crossed eyes

musical number/lullaby

for some reason this popped into my head recently, and i’ve been singing it all evening.

my nana used to sing to me as i fell asleep,

“Dites-moi
Pourquoi
La vie est belle,
Dites-moi
Pourquoi
La vie est gai,
Dites-moi
Pourquoi,
Chere Mad’moiselle,
Est-ce que
Parce que
Vous m’aimez?

Dites-moi
Pourquoi,
Chere Mad’moiselle,
Est-ce que
Parce que
Vous m’aimez?”

je l’aime

falling in love

falling in love is, for me, impossible and incredibly easy. this is probably because i am a finicky aries who changes her mind about the definition of love constantly, along with the actual beloved subjects. they are not always people. not always romantic or sexually associated. sometimes someone does something kind for me and my heart drops. sometimes i find a large red rose trimmed and waiting for noone at my back porch. sometimes my shadow shocks me out of a sleepy walk to the house to recognize the beautiful and overpowering moon. none of it is unordinary. i am not unique in my romanticism and love for little moments. i just assemble them into my own interpretation which feels like love in itself because it is my own creation.

so this is why it is hard to make great art when i am falling “in love.” i am pouring all this creative energy into one person instead of trying to reach for an audiences’ understanding. i am a cliche artist in that i constantly feel misunderstood and at the same time acknowledge that there are many very mundane things about my existence. i feel a bubble between myself and the rest of the world. once in a while i find some sort of mutual understanding. once in a while someone else is jumping with me on the moon. romantically or otherwise. i understand that even friendships have a pulse.

i remember sitting on my front porch once and watching a worm fall from the sky. it landed next to me, and when i tried to help it into the bushes it wriggled so hard that it jumped into the air. i was trying to help it, but it wouldn’t have it. I was just like all the other birds. after a very determined amount of wriggling it was in the bushes safely, by its own doing.

sometimes i feel like a stubburn, fiercely wriggling worm. dependence and assistence feel like razor sharp beaks. i fear feeling comfortable in a bed of twigs and feathers just long enough to be swallowed whole. other times, usually around dawn i find myself flailing in the amber sky, crying for my own salvation and beheading.

i’m not sure where to go from here. i suppose what inspired me to jump over to a tumblr tab; i love letters. i think about frustrating disconnect between imaginary scenarios and stupidity on my part…while stirring in this tiny city of a town. then i think about the real and beautiful discourse i’ve had through letters. the word love bubbles up in my mind. my stomach caves and my chest is full. there was nothing particularly romantic in my most recent inspiration. but the sheer honesty, comfort and respect renewed my faith in male-female relationships.

i know it is sometimes awful the way i tend to think, in dichotomies. nothing is that simple. but sometimes it’s easier on my heart to focus on systems of oppression by which i abide (or used to) than to acknowledge my own weakness in loving someone who is incredibly cruel. someone with no love to offer.

i have many interpretations of the word, “love.” most of them are associated with overwhelming feelings. i admit to you that i am clueless about it all. i observe and feel and occasionally spring into idiotic action when i’ve convinced myself that unicorns exist. when i fill myself with so much love from the world and my reactions to it, i think it is a great opportunity to give it all away to someone “in need.” why have i never appreciated that i need just the same? I’m terrified of needing. I’m strong and the world is a magical place. I’m terrified. strong. terrified. strong…

the leaves are sweeping under my feet and i’m looking towards chicago. but athens isn’t over yet. i can feel my feet and every other potential graduates’ on springs. there’s fear about new connections. there’s laziness. self absorbtion. this is an account of it. this is a reaction to a beautifully honest letter, turned to nothing entirely related. one of my biggest flaws in writing is hitting points and assuming the audience’s mind works just the same as mine; that piecing my thoughts together is second nature for all. This is probably why my strength remains in the visual arts, where ideas have relationships because of their visual placement. it makes so much more sense with the way my mind works.