Muddled chai tea latte and a white streak of light that is a wonderful little stray cat come home to us last year near my sister’s birthday. Trumpets, guitar effects, piano trills, and magical harps sound from the thick evergreen forest outside. It is very cold and the frozen air molecules seem to allow sunlight to brighten mightily. That chill in the air when you realize someone you used to know is gone forever; a version of your self is buried deep underneath that fast approaching black berry bristle. They will taste sour surely. I’m in the center of a valley of holiday decorations, how nice and fun, they are red/green, shining sparkling little trees and stockings, a giant sled and a million other objects placed about randomly, many with only vague impressions of meaning for me, in this childhood home, I am alone in this valley and feel slight melancholy behind my eyes.
Soon I’m moving into a confusing, intimidating, new phase of my life. A return as well as a new downhill jam. School, man, what about it? I want to learn from the masters of the work place opportunities for a young writer as myself. I want to learn the craft from all angles. Technical writing, poetry, and prose-fiction. Psychological reports, philosophical inquiry, editing, revising, grammatical perfection (the grammar that I currently love to ignore, ignore, ignore. here and there a comma splice, a lack of verb-tense agreement, that pocket in which I jingle change.) Will a degree in English allow me to pay back my debts to my family and friends? I will live in a cottage-like apartment. Consider myself as one of the artists in residence as there is presumably a pianist in the community as well. Can I prove myself worthy of the support? Questions as these haunt me constantly. Friends are self sufficient and glorious with their adult-strife and paycheck counting, rent paying citizens of tax deductible lives and hard boiled eggs from breakfast and a self packed lunch, juggling, juggling, juggling, three things, the most important ones.
I’m taking a different route, toward the arts. Multi-faceted arts. No need to be the ‘best’. Unless you want youtube views. I will continue to write but I will find more control and purpose. I will continue to draw and paint, with more emphasis on print-making and framing, to sell images and spread love into apartments and homes. Many of these prints will be given to friends and people who might help get the word out. Friends, yes. Family, definitely. Why be selfish? All of my best projects gather dust in piles. They can serve purposes for momentary contemplation. Same with my story ideas, my song fragments, those guitar riffs that have no home, those orphans lyrics and abandoned musical ideas, those piano licks written and forgotten. Oh god! If I only had more time, time, time!
I will create pictures with the written word, yes. I will create visual art with colors and illusions, yes. I will make pamphlets and prints, chapbooks and free hand outs and create a website for further information. I will write and perform acoustic songs, self-release a decent quality recording of a few songs. I will make cover videos for the internet, for free. I will sing with stronger heart and better note accuracy, train my ears to perfect pitch and color harmony, grammatical error detector, and like all of this, just ignore conventions for the approach of truest art and intention.
I will slide gently into the fire feet first. It will consume me and everything will be so desired and worthwhile. I will join the art community and live so damn well.