Sometimes it is the prospect of possibilities themselves that stop you dead in your tracks. The openness wallops you- you get thrashed back into the cush lazy boy chair; assuming the iconic image of the skeleton sitting before the speakers- his skin blown off by the sheer volume.
That is how I feel sometimes when I want to access creativity.
I hit open mics often. I go. I sit by myself. I’m in my own private little world….
I go strictly for contagion. The inspiration in the room rubs off as the gears inevitably begin to turn and I think to myself: “There are about a million things that have never been done that I could be doing right now…”
Like playing out languid daydreams, fiddling with the reel as it turns; Unfolding ideas.
If your hair stands up in a storm it could be a sign that positive charges are rising through you, connecting you to and reaching you toward the negatively charged part of the storm. It could be that the lightening has chosen you. You can be a conductor. This will be your most important job yet. The brilliance in bolts will be your inward symphony. Your rag tag orchestra will be ablaze with a gaggle of madness and electric splendor.
Will you run inside and attempt defiance in natural selection?
Will you accept the possibilitiy of surviving to perhaps become something of a Shaman? Native folklore tells of the lightening bestowing powers… So will you sit outside and feel the rain now? …Your self inflicted sacrificial moment of Russian Roulette….
I always had this strange feeling about how I might die. I’ve been close to it before. Colorado, where the sky was overtaken by sudden darkness. The clouds dragging greedily across, casting long shadows in their wake. Ponderosa Pines blowing fiercely, whipping their helpless needles about. The smell of ozone and storm welling up to the crux.
We ran like children home-alone, jetting up the stairs, afraid to look behind them, steeped in imaginitave fear of what terrible person might be chasing close.
I saw a deer’s dismembered leg up in a tree on that hike, not far above my head. The wieght of the omen pulling across my back, hindering my steps, slowing me down and shaking me deeply. I was in awareness that it was part of the wild. That I too, was part of it. Could be consumed. Be it by big cat or by the heavens. Part of the raw, unforgiving forces. Far bigger then me. Nature; filled with love but no pity, which by default pulls mercy out of the question.
The deer, a likely victim to a mountain lion, victim of the cycles. And I, running with adrenaline bursting through my heart. Death scenes delighting the caverns of my otherwise occupied mind, where the lightening would pick me, pluck me, and freeze me, sending a specially made spark from below, holding me captive, propping me in place like a helpless doll.
It is all so much- making me want to go home to a place I’ve never been.
It is like being drawn towards a solid wall.
If I went fast enough would I override the tighteness of molecules? Would they forgive me and let me through?
Carry me back . Cradle me with out arms.
Take my orphaned soul and let me cry until I laugh and confuse my own self all over my emotions.
Fill me up and let me shake and burn with the greatest energy. Consume me if you must, but remind me in the interim- that I am oh-so-alive, and let my art explode.
Haaay party people. So- I recently had the honor from the sly, witty, brilliant, and muscularrr MrMaryMuthafuckingPoppins of being chosen as one his top 7 fave blogs. ((((Blush)))). Well! This is perfect for many reasons. Several things happened once this post was posted (hehe):
1. Inspiration. Awww yeah- “I’m so doing this.”-Lisa
2. Scopism. I got to scope his list and boOM! Some amazing writers surfaced that I likely would have never known about; thank you Mr. Mary, writer of the fabulous and cheeky, not to be missed (as he too, is one of my faves.) http://aspoonfulofsuga.wordpress.com/
3. Exposure. I got lotsa hits that day from awwwwl ova the place. Good thing I was dressed for the occasion.You know, my grandmother forever said that we must always wear clean underwear because we never know what could happen. Hmmm. There are so many ways that this could be taken now that I never entertained before. Grandma!
Then time crept in. And SHOCK and AWE- I was nominated by Emily of the shiny, sweet, entertaining http://groundingmyroots.wordpress.com/. Stars! This girl is also one of my favorites, so make sure you check hers.
I want to acknowledge all of these people and thank them, and now do a sort of hybrid on their questions and rules.
First, the questions, and then, some of the best blogs!
Drrrum roll please~~~~~~~~~~~
1. What’s the best thing that happened to you in the last 36 hours?
2. What are your pet peeves?
3. Did you have an imaginary friend growing up or did you want one? Tell us all! When did you part ways? Was it gradual? Im so jealous! I always wanted one but never got one!… Oh yeah, next question…
4. If you had the power to declare a national holiday what would you declare and why? Details please.
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? (You have the capital for this one, don’ worry)
6. What do you think of celebrity gossip?
7. What’s the theme song of your day, week, year, or life?
8. If you came with a warning label what would it be about?
9. Favorite quote or joke that you made up?
10. OCD?
11. Best pick up line anyones’ ever fed ya?
12. Tell us something embarrassing about your brain.
My answers to these questions are below my list of faves here. Checky-
With out further ado I present to you~ my top blogs. Enjoy!
* http://talesofacharmcitychick.com/ This woman is my long lost virtual sister. She is spry, real, insightful, witty, and sassy as they come. Total writers’ crush. Only read this if you enjoy laughing.
*http://mennlay.com/ Can I start of with Yum? Oh good. You’ll get it when you check her out. Intelligence, stylishness, sillyness… and she holds it down. Sounds vaguely familiar…. (;
* http://heapsofnimbus.wordpress.com/ This man has an outrageous eye. I am not kidding. He has a true gift. You’ll see. The proof is in the pudding. His writing is beautiful, creative, and succinct. A true artist.
* http://dearcabby.wordpress.com/ Because what is better in life then brief, chance moments with perfect strangers helping you suss out your woes? Solicited and unsolicited. Fabulous!
* http://furtherthanyouthink.com/ Written by a woman who originally hadn’t even considered the public being able to see her writing, setting it up for her family… This blog is a collection of her accounts of her life dedicated to travel and stints through out the world. She has a unique and intriguing approach. Worthy read.
*http://thesandytongue.wordpress.com/ Fucken yes. Give it to me. You sharp, quick witted, mo-fo. Yes you. You’ll be glad you check this dude out. He doesn’t hold back. Thank goodness.
So there are my blog choices. Everyone I mentioned on this little post. You are all just lovely. More please! Bless your creativity. Aaaand answer my questions!
1.What’s the best thing that happened to you in the last 36 hours? Me? Oh, well I think that would have to be getting out of the city and hiking up in Washington, and then hitting a super stashy outdoor boulder for climbing that only like 5 dudes know about (I won’t tell and you can’t make me!) and getting a feel for the cold, bold rock. (Dirty sounding, eh? You like it.)
2. What are your pet peeves? I’ll give you two. First, it makes my eye twitch when people say the word “guestimate”. Are you serious? You redundant little… Come on! An estimate is an educated guess. For crying out loud. You sound like an asshole. God, I feel better already. And also- “chillaxing”. Really? Gross. Second, when people park their bikes over a bar, taking up 2 spots instead of one. Use your front wheel and your fork, peeps, not the whole freaking frame. It’s just as safe! Ahhh!
3.Did you have an imaginary friend growing up or did you want one? Aw boy did I ever wish that I did. I wanted one so bad. I thought you either had one or you didn’t. I couldn’t fake the funk but I sure was open to it. Just never happened. Good thing my dolls were alive…
4. If you had the power to declare a national holiday what would you declare and why? Details please. I have a few in mind. For the sake of this Q, I’ll give you one, as I intend to write a rather entertaining (ahem) post of this: National Dress Like a Ho Day. Bare with me. I am saving Halloween! It is painfully obvious that American’s are sexually repressed. Come Halloween- the end of chilly chilly October, the opportunity arises to dress up in whatever people’s hearts desire. The majority of women take this time to dress pretty skanky and that is totally their prerogatives. Now, the problem that I have is that Halloween is not being honored. When else is the veil between worlds the thinnest? When else can we slip together into that spooky spirit? It’s so cool!!!!! It’s my favorite holiday and it is being sullied by these poor, repressed people! Lets have National Dress Like a Ho holiday in the summer. That will please everyone.
5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? Buenos Aires, Argentina. Cosmopolitan, foxy, healthy… Close to tropics, ocean, and glaciers? Ok!
6. What do you think of celebrity gossip? Rrrrubbish. Knowing famous people’s dirty laundry is a fascination that sounds awfully boring.
7. What’s the theme song of your day, week, year, or life? Hmm, I pick year so far.
8. If you came with a warning label what would it be about? Um, don’t piss me off? Hm, that’s not good enough. Let me think. I stumped myself! Extremely picky eater? No, that’s lame. Fickle. Yeah, that’ll do. Shoot, sorry. Do better then me on this- such a good question!
9. Favorite quote or joke that you made up? How did Italians invent spaghetti? They used their noodles! hahahaha.
10. OCD? Must. sweep. Ok, fine, also if I spin around one way I have to unwind myself the other way. Whateva whateva
11. Best pick up line anyones’ ever fed ya? It’s a tie: Someone a while back told me I had the eye of the tiger. I believe they were completely sincere. Recently a hippy man told me that I was one of the 9 daughters of Zeus. SSsssnap!
12. Tell us something embarrassing about your brain. This is bad. I apologize in advance if I offend anyone: Oftentimes from afar when I see an obese person- I think it’s two people making out. I’ve come to terms with this in the last year. I don’t know why this happens. It’s not by choice. So strange.
Here lies a formal request for a bit more of your attention in perusing the proceeding words than that of the ones that I normally post.
This is an interactive one, kids; reading far more effectively if you would please affix a fair and cheeky British accent to it, and at about the half way point, take on the cadence and musical accompanyment of the lullaby: “Hush Little Baby”…
Well! What do you know!? I just looked it up to make certain that the name was correct, and not say, called “Mockingbird” and guess what- it is British too!
We are smoking!
Ok, and I will let you know when the melody kicks in, so have no anxiety.
The background here is that this stems from an ongoing debate that I have been privy to a few times concerning “average and normal” people taking anti-depressant medication to “be even happier”. Yes, this is on the table now. The implications are rather tremendous, as it holds thought processing (and emotional, spiritual, intellectual, life experience… growth) in the balance. It’s a popular discussion.
When happy is just not good enough… I thought of it as what follows~
(((accent begins now)))
Life is like holiday with cosmetic neurology-
Where everything good just got BETTER.
When you look at ya’ mug and your face is just snug, rest assured- you’re no longer a fretter.
You say you are fine; no nagging complaints, or major frights.
But you’re human and bound to get nervous.
So riddle me this and you’ll owe me a kiss as for you do I ever have a service!
Now what would you say, aside from that I made your day, if I told you that you might never loose your smile?
Could you ever believe that sheer bliss could be achieved, by yours truly if you’d listen short while?
Well I’ll bring the news that comes in capsules and tubes, while you put these in your mouth and say bye bye to the blues…
<< begin lullabye tune now (moderate amount of pep)>>
Say so long to the wayward ups and downs.
Farewell to the questions that ran you around.
Be gone with the wonder and daily stresses of life.
Am I enticing and tickling your fancy allright??
So let’s say the perma-grin that your working towards,
starts to crack the skin- it’s not much of a chore.
There’s no need to fret over a tiny few wrinkles.
Don’t like what you see? Here- just take these pink pills.
Now we’re hopped up on meds and it swimmies our heads, but we’re happier now then anyone ever named Fred.
It’s ok if your voice sounds pinched a couple of octaves,
or you have a sinking sensation,
or feel trapped in a cockpit.
The side affects are nil and the benefits gargantuan,
For ever so happy, who needs thoughts to think upon?
Blindly trust in the pharma-biz, and trust in your doc.
Have faith in big business; replenish your stock.
No more regular worries’- you’re not a plebe.
And don’t listen when the poor folks say your soul has been thieved.
This is nearly as natural as God had intended~
why else would we provide
a way that your enbended introspection’s been untied??
My case has been stated and your comfortably convinced~~~
that being just ok in these days is actually the pits.
This one goes out to the throngs of good men who are single and are unsure why… Sometimes we are our own worst enemies, and it takes another person a bit further away and with a different vantage point to fill you in on what you keep missing. Please do not feel insulted~ it’s all the purest of intentions. And I’m feeling generous. Altruistic. To the point. And, after all~ the world is absolutely a better place when we’re getting loving.
This entry is intended as a self-help guide of sorts. You can use it as a checklist. And your secret is safe with me. If you look in the mirror to find yourself fitting a no-no here, fear not, you can change and grow. You are strong and versatile. Great things are abreast. And you’re welcome.
These are a refined, thought-about-at-length, discussed over many drinks with many a pretty lady, collection of reasons why you might not be getting any nookie, mixed and fixed with a fair collection of “don’ts”.
Trench coats. C is no longer for cookie. If you are wearing a trench coat, you look like a Creep. And I’m sorry. But you’re sorrier. I can’t believe you didn’t get the memo. You’re not getting any *%^*# because women think you’re into Dungeons and Dragons. Or that you have some vampire slayer complex. Or you’re a wanna-be bounty hunter. Or you never left that 90’s hair band phase. You know- the one that stayed in the 90’s?
Sweat and the rules of the dance floor. If you are cute and we like you, we will be happy to talk to you. If you are sweaty from shaking it, that’s fine. Go on with your bad self! Maybe we can even dance together. BUT- if you are very sweaty, please refrain from hugging us. Or putting your arm around us. Yes, it’s difficult to resist, but it will serve you in the long run. Withhold hug now=earn hugs later. This is good, sound advice. Believe me.
Pinky rings. Don’t. Just don’t. You’re not Kanye. K? And that’s all right. We just want you to be yourself. Just not in that thing. It’s creepy and makes you look like a washed up cocaine dealer. Bad bad bad. Ok, stop laughing and put it away. You are not the exception.
Flossing. You feel inconvenienced by flossing. Really? This is part of basic maintenance. If you don’t like your mouth bleeding, rest assured that this will stop once your gums adjust to human touch. Suck it up and initiate your mouth to cleanliness. Think of it as being in a really cool (and necessary) gang. The blood is just part of getting jumped in. (Applies to ladies too)
Mustaches. You had to know this one was coming. I don’t know why, where, or how you recently got the idea that this above the lip fuzz is hip, but I feel like none of you ever consulted with those of us that you are aiming to impress with your dashing good looks. Um, hello? The skinny is this: you have been misinformed. If you talk to one lady who favors this ickyness, she is the 1%. We are the 99%! If you are below the age of 50, and you have hair above your lip that is independent of, and disconnected to other hair on your face, it’s time to grab a razor. Waste no time! If you are not a cop, you have no business with one of these things. Plus they get all nasty when you are eating and drinking, and they also don’t feel very good where we want everything to feel really good. Smell what I’m cooking?
Cologne/ Oil/ Smell. This is a case where less is more. We appreciate and applaud your daily shower regiment. We do. We really do. If and when (because it happens) you do not have an opportunity to bathe, do not cover up in a masking smell. The truth is that you then stink like B.O. and cologne had a bastard child. This is a bad baby. Nobody wants to hold this baby. A tip: Alcohol neutralizes your odor, so grab a cotton ball, go to the emergency kit, and swab away. Then reapply deodorant. Optimally you will shower, but sometimes that’s not an option. There is always an alternative. Also, on the topic of deodorant, please please please select one that is not over powering in odor. This especially affects us because you are often taller than us, and you must remember where our noses get squeezed into sometimes when you hug us. Contrary to the commercials, we do not want you to spray Axe across your chest. Deodorant is intended to eliminate odor, not create a new, choking, powdery one. Blech. (ladies too! please!)
Standards of Initial Contacting. May-haps it’s because I was in a relationship for the better part of the last 3 years until semi-recently, that this one slipped by me and now I am in regular awe of it… Texting. Ok. Let’s break it down. It was lovely, “back in the day”, when a gentleman would take our number, waiting the proper amount of time (4 days on average; demonstrating his coolness, collectedness, and certain lack of desperation) before calling. Then he would call, and we would have a conversation. Like a real conversation. Not one sentence ping-ponged back and forth between waves of radiation. And this person would be new (no facebook stalking or preemptive question satiating before actual contact) and the conversation was or wasn’t. Simple. Now the accepted standard is that we give our number and can expect a text with in the next 1-3 days/ later that night. So the amount of time between has been shortened on account of the speedy connected world we live in. Here’s where I come in with advice: we still want a phone call. A text is impersonal and not demonstrative of your boldness, confidence and bravery. Take a chance! We like your voice. That’s why we want to talk to it. Worst that happens? We don’t like it, and guess what~ it’s a big, sexy sea of fish out there. Knowwhadimsayin? *Another note- if you called a lady or texted her more than 2x and haven’t had a response, she is more than likely just not interested. She may just not know how to say it. Move along> think big sexy ocean lapping away happily. Next time!
Donald Ducking. There will never be a point within the comfort that you feel with or towards another human being where this will be ok. If you don’t know what this means, be certain to look it up. It’s a major no-no. I don’t care if you’re 25 years deep together. I am telling you so that you know very well: this is a BAD look. I hardly recommend this in private; it’s better not to tempt the habit. If you must change the order in which you dress/ undress, so it goes. Also, while on the topic, always make sure to take off your socks during sex. Not hot.
Well, that about wraps it up for my unsolicited yet o-so-necessary advice. May you walk away smarter, with more confidence and swagger… and at the very least… your pants on.
And so it goes… It’s arguable that life is perfect. That everything comes just at the right time. That our struggle against the flow is trivial, wasteful, and pointless, as what is due is on its way. Even in moments of sadness do I recognize that I have had and will have once again in the future~ my time to shine.
How is the proof of perfection measured? Why in the little things, of course. In those tiny, serendipitous experiences that align our moments in the strangest and most unexpected of ways.
Today a colleague and myself were having a totally random conversation about accents. I was telling her that how it would be super interesting to study accents in the U.S. in relation to how and when they were brought over, and how and when they began to become distilled and eventually shed, as westward expansion gained momentum. ( As you likely know, the British colonized from the East coast and moved west, so by default accents are by far the strongest in New England and then of course, the South.)
I have always gotten a kick out of linguistics and etymology, but never thought much of the connection between expansion and settlement from the 1600’s affecting our very diction now! Amazing! Anyways, so these were my thoughts~ there you go, now they are yours. (Tawk amongst ya’selves.)
When I came home today, my colleague had sent me an article from mental floss magazine that was sent to her today. So take a guess about the content. Go on. You know you want to… Ok, ok. “When Did Americans Lose Their British Accents?“. Yes kids; that was sent to her. It’s a pretty interesting and neat little ditty too. Scope it! …Now you tell me~ do you believe in coincidence, or do you think it’s far too random? I’m not sure what the source of Godliness/ Goddessness or wild, beautiful deity presence is out there, but I do feel pretty confident that I just got winked at.
There are two kinds of people in the United States who will sit down next to a perfect stranger on the same park bench when there are other ones in the nearby area that remain unoccupied:
1) A person that wants you, or has something that they hope you want
2) Drunks
It is not unusual for me to take my bike and point it towards the direction of an adventure I hope to come upon.Often times I will ride westward towards the esplanade of the city. The latter part of the ride itself is lovely; over the river, next to the train tracks suspended above the water on tremendous, whiny, old, wooden beams. For the many who are yet to be familiar with Portland town, the esplanade is a long stretch of sidewalk that is on both sides of our river, the Willamette, dividing the city respectively into east and west. As you can imagine, there is a good ebb and flow of foot traffic here at every hour. There are joggers, bike riders, people strolling, destitute folks, people recovering from another long night of drinking, drugging, or just plain ol’ being homeless and snoozing there. There are people taking photos, people reading or drawing, musicians playing together…
I came down to the river the particular day in question to wrap myself up in the gentler flow of the city. Equipped with sketchpad, writing book and an array of pens of different thicknesses, I sat. I looked into the river and at the passers bye, hoping that the words would begin to collect themselves for me. Gather anytime my fantastic friends. Inspiration? I’m here.
Stage left, in come this rather large fellow. He seated himself next to me on the bench. No invitation needed for public benches, true, but when there are other vacant benches, don’t most people know to take one of those? It’s one of those unspoken social cues that we all adhere to and accept. (Similar to the unspoken rule in the men’s rest room where when using the urinal you go to the one at the very end, and each next guy to get up to use the john goes as far as possible from the other user. Right? Yes, woman know these things (woman, did you know about this?!) (We are so lucky that we get to pee together!).) So there we are: me with my pen, dutifully sussing out a brilliant topic bound to dawn any minute, with a slight distraction due to my new bench mate who was fairly odorous (boozy stank); and he, a rather lumbering fellow with a large presence that had a slightly jumbled and wayward feel, along with a subtle allure that peaked my interest an itty bitty bit. Microscopicly so.
He began talking and asking me questions that were just fluff and I felt that he was hoping to find a friend in me. I was still absorbed in my hopes of creation, also hoping he would leave, albeit humoring him despite my disdain for superficial conversation for the sake of conversing. Well whaddaya know, he pretty much talked to me until I was hooked. It’s when you least expect it, kiddies. Hints of his story splintered through the fluff of simple monologue and he had my attention. He got me, like a slow drug would: Methodical and persistant administration.
And the verbal foreplay had reached a point where I wanted to know more. Impatiently awaiting. Maybe he would get it out and then I would have some fodder. That was when he became distant and when I realized I was, in fact, an asshole. He wasn’t going to just give it up. I had taken this man for granted because he sat down next to me, and I had assumed that his routine was the same old song and dance number I had seen exacted so many times before: drunkard with loose lips, talking to who ever will listen. I didn’t feel special or “chosen” and I had taken him to be very open. I forgot, and was slapped with the reminder- there are still sacred tales behind eyes the of those souls who seem broken.
Finally, it came.
His story. True as sin.
Drunk Native American.
Big, lost man.
Ancient myth.
Vagabond.
This story unfolded in such a fashion, becoming absolutely one of the most beautiful and humbling tales that I have ever heard.
Somewhere in the Southwest a large man once lay. A sterile gown. A white bed. Eyes shut. A coma had claimed him from nights and days of exessive drinking. A coma that turned days into weeks and turned weeks into months. Doctors and attendees stood by, idly. Deep sleep of an undisturbable variety. Dreams showed no presence, playing on the lids of no eyes.
A small number of people were left in his life. Bridges had been burned and pain had struck chords, severing ties with too much weight to mend. The tiny amount of loved ones left came to visit. Trickling in slower than tales of tortoise. They whispered and they prayed. They cried. They talked to him. Different tactics eliciting nothing.
His uncle came one day to his bedside, this time bringing desert Sage. In the hospital room the bundle was lit, and the man in the starched gown was smudged. Did they treat him like a lost spirit? His body was brushed with sacramental smoke. His face washed clean with the scent. The big man’s nose… began to twitch.
This was seen.
A break through. A big deal. But the end of the road, as nothing else dented the difference between the standing and laying in the room again. Not even Sage. Not for weeks in spite of multiple tries.
Weeks later another family member came carrying family heirloom in tow; an instrument used in ceremony. A beautiful, simple rattler. A rattler that had guided this family in the hogan. A rattler that his ears knew. The sound of the desert. The sound of wheat tufts dancing in the breeze. A song of nature. Perhaps the sound of home.
The big man lay completely still. When the rattler was shaken- up rose his hand, mimicking the movement. As if to shake the tools, as if it was he, making the noise.
Weeks lapsed once again, and intermittently his responses shortened the amount of days between the stretches of stillness.
It was these visits, featuring different family members, presenting an instrument, a scent, a song, that brought him to, eventually.
Finally one day he awoke, and slowly reoriented himself with the world. Reacquainted himself with his family. Embraced the ways with which he was raised. Got back on his feet. This is not to say that his base was solid, or suddenly he was resilient to his demons and the challenges that awaited. He was still a weak man who’s best friend and worst enemy were combined to be found at the bottom of the bottle, with a call that over powered the rest. But his sense of self, his sense of spirituality, his understanding of connectivity and family… all these things were bestowed upon him. Refreshed. Now, if he were to die, he knew where and how he would go, and that it would be his time, and his journey would be safe.
Back where I grew up was this park in the town of Hempstead; “Hempstead Lake State Park”. It sounds pretty, right? Wellll, it was green. Greenish. It was the most greenish area around us for a bit, so there was that. And there was a lake. And it was pretty from a far. Prettyish. And then when you got up close, not so much. No one swam in there. Not a chance. It was filthy. And there were probably dead, bloated bodies in there. And it stunk.
The park ran dangerous and once we grew older and had stashy parties in the woods(ish), we would go, but be in big masses when traversing through and around. Lots of creepy stories came from here.
Anyway, one day it turns out that there is going to be a drum circle there. What?! Yes, a drum circle there, in the day, with… hippies. Unbelievable. Well, we had to go, as a matter of course, and see the turn out with our own eyes. I repeat, this was not that kind of park. Not even almost.
The day came. It was cool and crisp. Bright and sunny. We blazed some and walked through the woods. We could hear the drums in the distance and I recall joking about little wood elves banging sticks together around us because of the way the sound echoed off of the trees. As we got closer and closer, we heard the most peculiar sounding drums. I mean, it sounded decent and it/ they were definitely keeping the beat. We heard it for a while and the sound was so different than that of any other percussion instrument any of us had ever listened to before. Finally, we had ascended upon a clearing, closing in on the drum circle in the adjacent field from where we had emerged. There, in the field before us was a felled log with four dogs tied to it, that most likely belonged to some of the drummers… There they stood, barking at random and without panic, appearing relaxed and content… adding their own barking rhythms to the sound cloud. They were 100% on point with the drum circle. It was absolutely astounding.
I thought of that today when a friend emailed me this little cute diddy.
Pigeon Heart Ponderings 