Justin Stone's creekbed

songs, prayers, poetry, stories, art, photographs, moving pictures, fondnesses, tall-tales and meditations

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Location: missouri, el paso

The Anterior Insula and Hwy W

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Earrings, my love, the stars are bright this week, kind of funky. Seek the solitary companionship of friend. Remember to stretch well your joints, your fists. Lose the tightness, Bug. Remember: some folks live a life of very vocal desperation. Such is not for you. You have heard your mouth make such plaint, and the echo of such has kept you many night awake, but take strength in the idea that it is better to have been bound and then set free than never to have been bound. Remember that stupid look on your face as thoughts of undone things come back to you. Pinched and squatty. It is a mirror in a mad-house. Such is not for you. Shake the rigor from your eyes. Go not undone.

You are nervy, Bug. You feel bigger these days, as though you have grown, or are growing. Your skull feels strong, alive. How do you move so compactly? How do you stand so like a tree, bend so in the wind? Go to the next place, drive or walk. Watch yourself function, move about. React you. Act. Action. Time is a spell long since cast, but there is a magic bigger. Remember to bring a pocket with your t-shirt, a notebook and pen. Memory and foresight.

It is funny how you think that nothing is going to happen and then it does. Over and over again: you suddenly (or slowly) see again the great many faces of you. These are intriguing pieces of a puzzle. The answers you find again are those of yourself. There is so much without word — the way everything happens. You live an immeasurable life. I wish you courage and heart. I wish you endurance. I wish you wild in the heart. I wish you clarity.

One knows, of course, that being an actor natural born amounts to nothing without a venue in which to perform. One knows that one is only that which occasion demands. Nothing asked, nothing given. To have called a close to the show before the run even began, to have withdrawn to the hinterlands, the hovels of unsubtlety — what a dumb waste, plain and simple. You are here, play. Tell story. We learn so with each story told, each story heard.

The best blackberries play hide & seek under cover of vine & leaf, turning plump & dark and so so sweet.

This is a nice world, Bug, when one can find the soft spots and therein make home.