the calm...

it usually starts with a blank page. as they say, "it's the story of my life." writing can be a beautiful thing because it can be recorded. otherwise, just like a fallen tree in the forest, if no one is there to hear it, it evaporates with the air.

i would go crazy if there was no one around to hear me. only to be heard; simply to exist in a space outside of myself. to think that air were my friend and i could speak to her. this empty body of nothingness that awaits my every glance and flick of the tounge. its sole purpose is to sit and wait, like a very patient calm before a storm. and so we wait, and we stare each other in the eye until the other turns gray and wrinckled.
this is not my life story, but if this tree falls.....i would like goodness to grow from it.

"It's time to face up
Clean this old house
Time to breathe in and let everything out"