A Mind in Motion

     There are those that flutter to the bright lights of others. They crave their warmth, their bold, wild spirit--and dance around them, no matter the risk to their personal self.      But there are others, those that are a flicker as well, and they flutter to the sparks of internal combustion --not to hover around them, but to merge with them, to experience their consuming existent.      In the end, they either dissolve into something cohesively new, or tear pieces of each other apart until they leave cinders in their wake.       "I am not a moth. I am a flame seeking to dance with other flames..."

         Music has always had a way with me. It's like it grabs my imagination, with each instrument and rhythmic beat, and takes it on a journey from one story to the next. Often lyrics tell the story the music wants you to know, while instrumental pieces themselves give you the freedom of exploration in interpretation.      There is a particular song, lately, that I have fallen in love with.  Experiences by Ludovico Einaudi  seems to sweep me up, splashing from one scenario into the next like a never ending dreamscape. It doesn't just tug at me artistically, but emotionally as well. The journeys that seem to unfold out of nowhere are beautiful, tragic and achingly honest.      Perhaps it is just the way the strings of the violins come together with the steady pace of the piano. Maybe it's the tender moments of quiet in an otherwise resounding piece that nestle in my mind and begs me along. Maybe I just experience mu...

     Time Travel fascinates me.      Especially when it is a part of a much bigger notion or tool in a story. It's often used as a means to fix something or reach an axis point where the direction of a moment can be encouraged onto a new path. The conditions or the reasoning are often selfish, even hidden under the guise of doing so for " the greater good" . On rare occasions, the traveler(s) are also curious explorers, fascinated (like me) by the many ripples that exist even within a fraction of a second of time.      But what if a traveler or two are just individuals who have accidentally crossed paths and, drawn by strong emotions, like love, find themselves breaking the barriers of time over and over again to forge moments together? What if they defy the notions that they could never be together like tragic star ( or in this case time) crossed lovers and don't just travel through those ripples but literally build new bridges wher...

     There are certain lines or mingling of words you hear that just reach into you. They inspire, tingle your senses, and tug on your emotions. It's like your mind never realized, until that very moment, that you needed to hear those words, that you had been missing out on their effect upon you. Sometimes they are a line from a book, a lyric in a song, or a simple misunderstanding of words in a conversation that nevertheless stay with you.      For me, it was a song lyric. Apparently the singer has an accent and it was influencing the way I heard the words. It wasn't until I looked it up that I realized I was wrong in what I was hearing and then I was disappointed. The song had moved me, I was drawn to it, but only because I had heard the refrain wrong. Still, I couldn't let the words go. I had to put them down. And then they inspired me on to a second line, to give them a place or purpose that I had previously felt.       "I hold you do...

      I've always held this visual that Chaos or Tragedy would occur in the most mundane of moments. Not under the threat of an known enemy or by a predictable scale of natural disasters just waiting to let go. For me, it has always been in the quiet--the points of life where it feels just like any other day.      Acoustically, if it were to have a sound, it's the way the leaves rustle in the wind, the long distant wail of a passing midnight train--music echoing off the walls of an office or home as life goes about its daily routine. There is no orchestral build up, no pitch of trumpets or rumble of drums--just life like the movie it isn't.      That's also how I prefer to write it.  Unexpected. In flow with an environment we can all relate to. People exiting their cars to enter grocery stores or dropping their children off at school or getting a sandwich from the local food truck while on their way back to work. I feel it takes, n...

     There is always a strong appeal to those who find themselves in reluctant situations and yet rise up to meet them anyway. Or are unaware how powerful and heroic they are because they are narrow sighted in their perception of themselves. These individuals draw us with their torment, humbleness, strength and defeats. Do we envy them? That they are so conflicting they can't help but tell wonderful stories? Or do we ache to be the things they are lacking? The belief to their doubt? The companion to their loneliness? The happiness to their sorrow?      "A sour Knight . An unwilling Queen . Two hearts forged by fire and tears. They felt so feeble and believed in nothing, yet they could shape worlds with their untainted Dreams ..."

     I had another sticky note moment last night. This time, after getting home from work and finding my apartment reeking of decay because I forgot to take the trash out before leaving for work, this little bit came tumbling out of mind.      How heart wrenching would it be to ache with need for so many things around you, to be beautiful to the eye and have such an open and pure soul but only be able to touch with the stench of death?      What kind of life would this person lead? Is it a curse cast upon them? Or the consequences of choices previously made? Can it be undone? Or are they eternally doomed to a life of solitude?

     One of the handiest tools I have ever owned have been sticky notes. They are small, convenient and always ready for me to jot something down. Sometimes it's something I wish to draw, or something dealing with whatever I'm currently writing. Other times it is a creative note, an expression of a moment that has capture my mind that I'm afraid of forgetting. Often times though, they are storytellers, mementos of myself as I absorb the world around me.      So I have decided to share them with you because I'm assuming I'm not alone in this and who knows, perhaps we will all find a way to inspire one another across mediums. This is today's sticky note as I heard the beckoning call of the ice cream truck's siren...