To me writing is the most spontaneous of art forms. When I'm not painting or playing music, I'm writing. Lyrics make us different than birds.
The Faces We Make Will Stay
Our faces are like maps.
Our faces are like paintings.
There can be so much meaning in every line of a drawing, in every shade of color in a painting. It reminds me of getting older, how our faces begin to crack like an old side walk. The crows fly in and land quietly on the corners of our eyes. The branches under their feet grow and grow, across our cheeks. Every single line means something. Every crease and tile of our skin implies an expression we made, moods we wore. Happy and sad lines, angry or mad lines, we can never lie about what we felt when it is written on our faces permanently. That's why I try my hardest to smile, to be laughingly passionate about everything so that you can see it in my face when I get old, that I had a good life.
It's Worth It.
I hear everything when I’m in my house.
The sound of every car, or bus… I hear the rain, when it does. The growling
cars parking and pulling away, with alarms chirping like sick birds.
I’m convinced that I might even be able to hear the sun ricochet off the slowly disintegrating shingles of my roof.
but it doesn’t bother me.
It doesn’t bother me because I hear life. And
It’s worth waking up to.
In my bed I can also feel the cold of this morning;
this morning was the coldest I can remember.
I awoke slowly, and all the sounds started coming in like
someone had reached into my head and carefully turned up the volume.
The way my dreams melt away so slowly, makes me remember that someday it might never get warm again out there.
And then… a sad thought dawned on me, another thing I always fail to remember: That some people wake up and it’s the coldest morning not only in their beds, but also their hearts.
So I am writing to you, thinking about you, reaching out to remind you that the sun outside doesn’t warm everything; even the sun has a secret: once it is gone over the horizon,
not promise to return.
I realized this morning that sometimes it’s hard
to control the sunrise and sunset inside you;
To raise and lower the gentle moon.
But someone has to do it,
And if I could…