The Chirping of Freeform Birds:A Tale of Falling in Love
As an artist of transition, I've been battling with my own flux, or more accurately, my own lack thereof. For almost 3 years I’ve been after a story, at the end of a book, but could not find so much as the cover or spine for the next. It's been debilitating, degrading, demeaning, and draining.
Saturday evening, getting ok with taking my shoes off more than literally and swimming neck deep in the meanings of “welcome home”, I walk toward the effigy burn; purple wicking its way up the day blue sky as if an over saturated napkin at some utopian bar. Inspiration vibrating, resonating in me, through me, like the bass compelling these minstrels and mammals to give their wiggles to the gods of jubilation, shining down upon them with great favor and adore.
Standing there, I felt a force tugging at my me, my heartstrings, the most buried and sequestered corners of my psyche. As a lantern floated into my field of vision and away to the sky, so with it took the weight of my encumbering detriments, granting me my theatrical finale, yes, but also the elation of the direction and clarity begotten of this first page being seen, the beginning of this whole next tale.
With this dirigible, I found the opening notes of a magnificent fantasia in the stirrings of curtains closing. In the eyes of each person touched by my process, our now shared process,I found myself gazing into the eyes of an old, almost unfamiliar lover. I found myself gazing into the eyes of my art, or more, the ether, the human condition.
We immediately fell deeply in love, as if star crossed youth from rival houses. May poison and puncture stay from this connection for some time.

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