Ride The Wild Horse

Passionately Writing

“Make Good Art”

“Make glorious, amazing mistakes.”

Neil Gaiman’s 2012 speech inspires me. It is wonderful to know that he exists. Of course no one is perfect, but most times we must prove that we have something great. His speech gives me encouragement and I will continue to revisit it from time to time. Thank you Word Press and Krista!

The Daily Post

In Neil Gaiman’s now famous 2012 commencement speech at the University of the Arts, he offers some excellent advice to free us from perfectionism, imploring us to simply create — to make art — no matter what. What’s wonderful about this advice is that it applies to any creative endeavour, regardless of whether your art form is writing, drawing, painting, sculpting, or découpage:

I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.

Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.

So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good…

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Practice makes Perfect

 

“Amat Victoria Curam” is latin for Victory Loves Preparation.  Not one thing should be left to chance. Chance is unintentional, casual and unplanned, therefore to consider oneself lucky is to accept success as a fluke.

Daily we count on the rising and setting of the sun and moon by some intelligent design. It’s basically a stage set for dress rehearsal.  Wow! Certain victory is achieved with dedication, practice without any self-imposed limitations.  So to rely on chance one is more likely to fulfill this expectation.

Pygmalion Effect

Pygmalion Effect

What are you practicing today?

 

Good Morning

Savoring the day.

Savoring the day.

 

It’s Monday morning and I am relaxed.  Café Culture is always clean and homey.  The scene is informal with collaborative spaces.  In the corner are a group of college students.  At 6 am I am just in time to grab my window seat.  There I can see people rushing by as the sunrises.  Should I have a fresh fruit cup or a fresh pastry?  Maybe not. This coffee and cookie will have to do.  Okay it’s time to get to work. 

Outside the panoramic glass window the view is magnificent!  I can see whose coming.  Its 6:15 and not one of my co-workers appear to be arriving.  Thank God our deadline isn’t until next week Friday.  I can breathe.  Maybe Jennifer’s son has not yet mastered his potty training.  Ted did say that his girlfriend is in town.  Amy is still mad at me for not showing up for the blind date that she arranged for me, but then again her boyfriend Jim just proposed.  Oh crap, why does everyone have a more interesting life than I do? Oh bother.

The café is getting crowded.  It’s almost 6:30 and I’m still alone.  We are supposed to meet at 7:00 am, this is what I get for arriving early.  I can see Mrs. Mangle coming into the café with Rex her golden retriever.  The bus stops are now empty.  Well, it won’t be long now before someone arrives.

Mrs. Mangle loves to talk.  I should just get prepared for a full ten minutes discussing her gardening and also the color of my hair.  An unfamiliar form had previously walked in the café door.  Someone I don’t recognize, yet somehow looks familiar to me.  His footsteps approach me from behind, oh well he’ll most likely grab the last available window seat.  Now what, Culture café is quite spacey why must he stop and touch me? I must have dropped something in the walkway.  As I turn, his strong voice speaks clearly, “I’ve been looking for you, are you Ms. Lisa MacBride?”  If I could only hide because my gut tells me who this stranger might be. My mind races as well as my eyes to his face.  Why is he so familiar to me?  With horror and in total disbelief I belt out “Yes, I am, can I help you?”

“I’ve been looking for you”. Well should I be surprised?  I am relieved that I wore make up today and just had my hair rinsed and styled on Saturday.  It’s 7:00 am and who should be before my eyes fitting the description that Amy gave me of my blind date, Thomas Morrison.  I am quite sure of this because Amy described him as approximately six feet tall having a striking build with an erect posture, handsome with an enticing smile.  Shit! Butterflies are suddenly awaking inside of my empty stomach. This is not the way I intended to start my Monday morning.  No wonder no one showed to this prearranged meeting. I am cornered and also plotting how I am going to kill Amy.  Timidly I speak, “I believe you’re Thomas.”

Gravity

My thoughts exactly.

I Say Write

Something always brings me back to you…

I have always thought about writing as an act of getting naked.

You come home to yourself, drop all the baggage on the floor, peel your clothes off and throw them into the laundry bag of yesterday, wash the glitter down the drain, dust away the day’s worries, and slip into the comfort of your own skin. You close the door and open your heart into words that ebb and flow, much like the quick typing and sudden backspacing, moving onward, backwards, onward again. Fingers that slightly hover over the keys, much like pauses between conversations when we let awkward silences between what we say and what we don’t say magnify what isn’t there and what we don’t want to hear.

But ultimately, we write.

And it is within the jungle of words and hanging vines and lines that we try to make sense of the chaos in…

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“You have stolen my heart”

“We watch the seasons pull up its own stakes.”

Our time together was but a season.

Sweltering and mesmerizing,

It’s perfume  lingering.

You won’t let me pretend.

Of course I still try to deceive you.

A new season lurks,

An ending,

A new start for us both,

 my dear heart.

I wallowed in your power over me;

this season is not ours,

nor the last: and the one before,

yet my heart overflows for you,

as  it learns that you are now no longer without.

Complete song: “Stolen” by Dashboard Confessional.

We watch the season pull up its own stakes
And catch the last weekend of the last week
Before the gold and the glimmer have been replaced,
Another sun soaked season fades away

You have stolen my heart
You have stolen my heart

Invitation only, grand farewells
Crash the best one, of the best ones
Clear liquor and cloudy-eyed, too early to say goodnight…

You have stolen my heart
You have stolen my heart

And from the ballroom floor we are in celebration
One good stretch before our hibernation
Our dreams assured and we all, will sleep well
Sleep well
Sleep well
Sleep well
Sleep well

You have stolen my….
You have stolen my….
You have stolen my….
You have stolen my heart….

I watch you spin around in your highest heels
You are the best one, of the best ones
We all look like we feel

You have stolen my
You have stolen my
You have stolen my
You have stolen my heart……..

My Robot: Horatio

 

It’s five o’clock and the road is backed up with new traffic.  It’s funny how without trying too hard we all think alike. This Wednesday the endless long line of never ending traffic proves that everyone has taken the new highway to get home.  I’ve got to get home by 7:00 pm, no later. My feet are sore, stomach roaring and I am mentally going over my to do list.  Why isn’t the work done at 5 pm? One answer, my second job begins, house chores and projects.  Yes that must be the answer.

Horatio is waiting for me.  The most wonderful gift from my extravagant girlfriend Trina, a world-class traveler and entertainer.  Quite privileged and eccentric, Trina would always return with unusual but interesting souvenirs for me to deposit in my closet.  However I cherish Horatio above the clothing and jewelry, so he stands right at my front door to greet me with all I need.

Since I watched the movie series, Horatio Hornblower, I fell in love with actor Ioan Gruffudd and most especially his character Horatio.  I highly recommended watching it to Trina and consequently she fell in love with Horatio too.  Anyway, Trina found me a robot assembled to look exactly like Horatio Hornblower and Ioan Gruffudd.  What a coincidence!  Costly, but Trina still bought it for me. If only I could be so privileged to be eccentric, but then again she is a wonderful and generous friend who travels ten months out the year.

Traffic is moving slowly, I will probably be home at 6:30 pm.  Not exactly what I was hoping to meet.  My mind is on Horatio.  He will be waiting for me. I am almost there.  As I drive the mile long road that leads to my house, I hear his voice, “Welcome home my lady.”  This beats the “Oh your home,” from my ex husband. 

I race to the front door with five minutes left.  My keys are out and I quickly turn the locks.  Horatio greets me then takes my hand and leads me to the living room table where it’s already set up with everything he will need.  He takes off my shoes,  and proceeds to wash, dry and massage my feet, my pet peeve, but a necessity.  Now what will I get Trina?  It’s my true friends that truly help me to love me.

Massage

Foot soak

 

Death Is Too Easy

Scared to death.

Scared to death.

To be in like company is sometimes a blessing. Yesterday I almost died. It’s crazy. Strange, selfish or foolish it was almost one hour of peaceful darkness.  Yes death is too easy.

Extremely tired; fatigued in mind, body and spirit. A curse of giving up.  My arguments hold no water. Life is too precious.

Another wake up call. Only cats have nine lives.  How many more chances do I get?  

Writing now has become more important.  What’s different? I wanna give it my best.

Courage is back at my door.  It’s been gone for such a very long time.  My door is wide open, please come in.

 

“Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.”
Rumi,

Musical Marker: “(Still A) Weirdo” by KT Tunstall

My musical marker is “(Still A) Weirdo” by KT Tunstall.
 
It’s not often that we get to laugh at ourselves.  I have laughed really hard lately.  I am the happiest I’ve ever been.  The only difference now I can say it boldly and proudly that I love who I am.  The views and opinions of others now roll off my back.  Without apology I accept who have always been.

 

 

 

“(Still A) Weirdo”

No I know I took for granted that things
Would always go the way I wanted oh
I was going to be a treetop
A sea, a boat, a rock of agesI don’t always get it right
I’d see it in a different kind of lightPay my lip service
Keep it eloquent
Optimistic but
Never quite elegant
Still a weirdo
Still a weirdo, after all these yearsI’d always thought it’s automatic
to grow into a soul less static
But here I am upon the same spot
Attempting to lift off into space

I don’t always get it right
But a thousand different ways
And I just might

Pay my lip service
Keep it eloquent
Optimistic but
Never quite elegant
Still a weirdo
Still a weirdo, after all these years
Still a weirdo
Still a weirdo, after all these years

Pay my lip service
Keep it eloquent
Optimistic but
Never quite elegant
Still a weirdo
Still a weirdo, after all these years

Still a weirdo
Still a weirdo, after all these years

After all these years

Thank you God for Bees and Efs

Bffs

Bffs

It is hard to accept any definition of a best friend.  What exactly does this phrase mean? Someone who makes you feel better even when they point out the bitter truth about your personality?  An animal that hangs around you even when you are miserable and grouchy?  A person that knows just what you are thinking because they’re actually thinking the same way? For me my best friends has never been exactly as the movies, photos and magazines portray them to be.  My best friends have always come as a surprise to me. 

Indifference and solitude is prominent in my family.  My parents had a great many friends, but they never really indulged in endless socializing.  They preferred to keep a safe distance.  There was always an invisible line.  So I somehow follow that trend. In short, I have never initiated my friendships, they are always divinely orchestrated.

A good friend is a connection to life — a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world. ~Lois Wyse

Each friendship matters to me.  No one friend brings the same pie to the table.  The flavor, taste and presentation is always original.  I really am relieved when I get to be someone else with each friend. I don’t like being boxed into the confines of someone else’s perception of me. So I believe that numerous friendships are liberating. 

There is always that special person that grabs a hold of you.  In high school I was extremely shy. I never really spoke.  In the words of a friendly classmate, “You squeak.”  So he promptly called me “mouse” and smiled with such loving tenderness. I knew I had made a great friend.  I suddenly found myself with this lifelong identity. That was and is the real me.  My best friends evoke the best from me and quite possibly the worse too.

I will share how my cats have always inspired me.  They see the me that comes home after a long day.  They hear the noises I make and still want to be in my company.  I am really quite strange. Of course they are loyal when they get their meals on time.  Yet my cats just always make time for me. They want to  be in my company.  These memories have taught me a great deal about being a best friend.