Last night I dreamed that I was carrying a bunch of wine glasses to the sink. I had too many. So I put one, the only blue one, in my mouth to hold it with my teeth. But I was clenching down too hard and it shattered in my mouth. Shards of glass were stuck in my cheeks and I tasted blood. I, for some reason, could see inside my mouth and it was a bloody, blue-glass mess of a tongue. I tried not to swallow any of it and spit the pieces into the sink, while letting the other, clear glasses slip from my arms and onto the spattered blood metal.
Is it strange that I want wrinkles? Marks that trace expression deep into my face? Smile lines, frown lines, question marks, periods, exclamations, etched permanently around my mouth, eyebrows, forehead, nose? Not age do I want, but life! My story, any story ready to make right here with my face!
I've never blogged before today. I've always secretly wanted to. But I've shied away. Mostly because I've always found them to be so self-centered and pointless. But you know what?!? Who cares? We all know we're all self-centered it's not a new phenomenon for humanity. I figure that maybe my thoughts are interesting. Maybe they can entertain you or even inspire you. Or maybe they'll just fossilize here. But what the heck! I write. I write and paint prayers, poems, parts of stories, dreams, curiosities and Here I will preserve some of them. And please, be considerate: don't steal my art. Thanks.
