My Heart by Frank O’Hara

I believe this poem is the backbone of who I am. The lungs, the toes and fingers, the hips, and belly. We are all open, mutable beings. Containers of the soul, which changes shades as well. We are the changing seasons. We are lifted, celebrated. Everyone. That bro who you think is a waste of space has a mother who (probably) loves him, even the girl who won’t give you attention at the bar suffers as much as any of us. Lives and loves as much, as hard…

My Heart

I’m not going to cry all the time
nor shall I laugh all the time,
I don’t prefer one “strain” to another.
I’d have the immediacy of a bad movie,
not just a sleeper, but also the big,
overproduced first-run kind. I want to be
at least as alive as the vulgar. And if
some aficionado of my mess says “That’s
not like Frank!”, all to the good! I
don’t wear brown and grey suits all the time,
do I? No. I wear workshirts to the opera,
often. I want my feet to be bare,
I want my face to be shaven, and my heart–
you can’t plan on the heart, but
the better part of it, my poetry, is open.

-Frank O’Hara 

Distractions

After I made a list of my biggest stresses in life, I made a list of my biggest distractions. In bold letters I made one note on the list. FACEBOOK. This might be obvious, but I just tend to check Facebook when I am trying to work. I suppose the bright lights attract my attention. Why do I keep using this service? I find it ethically reprehensible. Its problems incorrigible. At first I enjoyed it as a login for Spotify, IG, and maybe two or three others. I have used it to promote events. I liked seeing what friends in Seattle are doing. I can use a service like Last Pass to help keep my passwords organized. No one sees the events I create unless I pay, sometimes not even then. The news feed looks like a spam inbox folder. My posts reach 1% of my audience because I refuse to pay. The few friends across the country I consider dear have sent me letters, I have called them periodically, and we have kept in contact by physical means.

I am quitting Facebook on April 25.

We are going on a short excursion to Southern Colorado. I am going to look for intelligent life past our devices. I intend to reconnect with the land and search the stars. We leave on the 25th of the month, at this point I will no longer use Facebook. I recently read a WIRED magazine article condemning the future of Facebook. The author then mentioned it was hard to write the article as he has never used Facebook. Ignoring the implications of his journalistic POV, if this writer for a highly recognized tech magazine does not and has never used Facebook, why should I?

You can find me here (literally right here), or here, on Instagram, on Twitter, or send me an email.

(I know the irony of me posting this on Facebook, but it is still difficult to break addictions.)

Lists

Taking out the stress cloud to better find your muse.

Taking out the stress cloud to better find your muse.

Like most things in life, this one might work for you or it might not. Aly uses Stickies on her computer to make to do lists for Vaux Vintage. I like to make physical lists. Maybe too many of them. In fact, last night I made a list of things to finish before Dionysian Mysteries. My last item on the list is 10. Figure out what else you need to do and make a new list.

Anyway try it out. I made a list yesterday of my four largest weights. I felt they were holding me back from moving on to the next step (which I will discuss soon). I tackled one last night and this morning I finally started my taxes.

A Small Misconception

Even The Biggest

Manifest Your Dreams

I have always been told, and believed, I could manifest my dreams. I was misled. That is to say I went about making my dreams happen, but only the smallest ones. I acted on the dreams furthest away from my heart, I was afraid of the dreams closest. Coincidentally, the further I drew away from my heart, the more I believed my dreams were simply wisps of smoke.

Today I am going to act on my biggest dream. The clouds are my design.

Amuse Your Muse

Aly & River

I never understood my muse. I had always believed my muse was an obnoxious fairy, choosing to inspire me at the most inopportune moments. I would wait by my pen for the heavens to open and white light flow on paper. After years of slowly giving up, at my most exhausted moment, it suddenly occurred to me…

I had to tackle the fickle beast, wrestle it to the ground, and take it for everything. I couldn’t wait for heaven, I had to storm the gates.

This is one half of this place. Creative prompts and ideas. A place to inspire by being inspiring, to find creativity by being creative. The other half is accounts of adventures into the wild. The gods are hiding more often in the trees than in your computer. So, that’s us up there. Vaux Vintage and me, catching sight of our muse in the mountains. Here, let’s go get ‘em.

“Amuse A Muse” Josephine Foster
Keep your muse amused
She’s liable to decay
Her flesh will rot away from disuse
Keep your muse amused
Her vestment will fray
Her locks will fall away in profuse
So bring flowers everyday
Sing odes and odes of praise
She dedicates her beauty unto you
It is her duty
Make love to her
She’s your muse
Amuse your muse
Or your ode to your dismay
Will fall in disarray
Make sacrifices on her altar
She is someone’s beloved daughter too
She’s your muse
Amuse your muse
She’s liable to decay
Her flesh will rot away
Someday will lie in coffin
All her beauty long forgotten
And diffused
She’s a muse
Amuse a muse

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

“Thomas Merton wrote, ‘there is always a temptation to diddle around in the contemplative life, making itsy-bitsy statues.’ There is always an enormous temptation in all of life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for itsy-bitsy years on end. It is so self-conscious, so apparently moral, simply to step aside from the gaps where the creeks and winds pour down, saying, I never merited this grace, quite rightly, and then to sulk along the rest of your days on the edge of rage. 
I won’t have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. We are making hay when we should be making whoopee; we are raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain, or Lazarus.

Go up into the gaps. If you can find them; they shift and vanish too. Stalk the gaps. Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock-more than a maple- a universe. This is how you spend this afternoon, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”

-Annie Dillard