Hey Man

Listening to the voices is exhausting. These days for most, listening is an art. I'm trapped in a bubble. Pop it and watch the beautiful people squeal. They'd squirm leaving squishy studded beams with enough power to warm the other coast. The one where reality exists unapologetically enduring puffs of cookie cutter crispness.

Why we corn pickin', cow tippin' pop drinkin', morally driven nice rude ones choose to roam amongst the shiny objects seems rhetorical, right. Sand, surf, sun....beautiful people in, on and with beautiful toys. Silly Nat.

Now listen. Shh....you should be listening. This may take a while.

That little obnoxious sound you hear is you. Dear gods, I hope you can still hear it. Your soul is calling, pick the hell up. Communicate. We do live in the age where you'd have to most likely orbit the planet to get away from all the ways eyes are hearing you. They may even be out there too.

If I am thinking about you, you know. I'll send some random text signed with a fun fact or wanderlust declaration after I just threw a dart at the map. People stay with me. They teach me, excite me, pinch something giving the voices just enough time to whisper their lesson. We're all teachers of some kind. We all hold within us secrets laced in experience Vicki can't put in her semi-annual sale.

Exhausted feels good. It means you've kept your soul.

No you can't buy me a drink. Man.

Tell me something new. Enlighten me. Open your mouth to educate those around you. Shut up long enough to pay attention. Experience enough to inspire uncensored realness on all coasts.

Where has all the drive gone.

You have a degree. Congrats it takes real effort to be stupid these days.

I can tell how intelligent you are by the way you take care of your body, how long it takes you to converse, the time you waste doing the things you love. You can't fake conversation but you can fake an orgasm. Tell me again women are inferior to men....

Stand alone until your so comfortable the only crowded room you enter is a candy store of intellect.

Sure, by all means, follow the masses, shun the offensive, pun the lethal, sit because someone else had a dream pretending it's alright because their mission matters. Slowly age with uncontainable beliefs although you wear the same hat, turning up for the same beat, confirming history's record of repeating itself.

Tell a lie simple enough for long enough and it becomes the truth.

This is not a booty call. This, therefore, is a problem. Just turn on the radio. Within seconds you're guaranteed to hear melodies all expressing the same thing. Use me. Better yet, I'll like it. If only us common folk could make it rain for turning it up. This is exactly what we need to turn down for.

Be real. Actually look around to process the images voices. Be everything they tell you not to be. Watch out for conformity masked in unique overlays. Don't buy the fabric. It itches anyway.

A friend asked me what I meant when I told him I wanted the simple things. This version of simple is rather complicated. Excuse the voices in my head.

I want to be exhausted.  And I want you to come with me.

Too Hot & Heavy.

There is no such thing as the right person at the wrong time. I hear this every day, more if I'm lucky enough to be in the company of those who care deeply for my future love or next episode anyway.

All my life, well since I started chasing boys around the play-groud... I was married at 7 but that's another blog entirely.... I've been an addict yearning for her cozy alone time. An old soul many dubbed my seemingly perfected balance of intro and extro -vertedness. This balance obtained through sheer force and too many naked audiences even this new-found emotion expressing me is comfortable to name.

One of the hardest thoughts to entertain and accept is 

discovering you are to blame and choosing to own it.

I can't help but now think of this as some kind of subconscious test. I will never be the girl to satisfy loneliness by filling up a day planner, with retail therapy weekends, free prime rib or countless blanket stealer tug of war.  Then again, I don't actually own a day planner and please, save the beef. If I spend time with you, you matter. This I solely am referring to as the hopeless romantic who has been obnoxiously screaming over the angelic voices in my head these days. A test. Must be.

You can't give yourself to another in body and expect their mind to meditate in your direction. Do they know the beauty beneath. It was Shakespeare who left us with thoughts of only giving your body to someone after you've given them your soul. It's easier to judge sir.

Lust dies, love is immortal. Maybe its women who suffer from this the most. We think, excuse the box, if we have sex with the object of our affection, love will magically articulate. You can't turn a booty call into a black tie affair.
 
In the end, as the sun sets, happy hour floods the streets and the security of comfort chills, I know deep down it wouldn't work. Or is that another mechanism to keep my lying here wrapped in an I'm ok fantasy waiting for some storybook love affair with all the super heroes to deal with all the scattered pieces. Saying I even have sorrows makes my eye twitch.
I've also been told to not love when your lonely, but only after you love yourself enough to be ready. Well, I say to this little nugget of advice, how the hell do you know the difference.

Don't jump in too fast or be the first to say those words. Don't call too often or seem so available. And for heaven's sake, keep your clothes on. Who made these rules and do we really all follow them. The divorce rate IS over 50 percent.

I wanted him to tell me to stay. To tell me to stop. To tell me it would be worth it. All my distorted pictures could be filtered and he'd prefer the blurriness anyway. Isn't that what people do.

Have the courage to start a conversation that matters with all the emotional roller coaster riding your mind can take. That's when your heart kicks in. We all have the ups and downs, but no two hearts feel the same. Hell, we can't even out to words what the damn red thing is saying. I have so many versions of how I feel throughout the day even with a happy soul. I will always choose happiness. This fault cripples vulnerability with its chance of hole in your heart cascading tears. Even happy souls shed tears. Let them see you, be real and if it's the love your ready for....cough...it be always be the right time.

Kind Humans

I'm all about voluptuous passion. Find something that gets your blood going and do something, anything about it. We slowly let ourselves die by remaining in one place emotionally and intellectually for too long.

Do not mistake passion for distraction. Don't allow yourself to be so wrapped in the propaganda of the moment you forget to remember the most important person in your life; you.

If we all spent as much time trying to make ourselves the very best version deep down we're all capable of as we did on the issues that we thrive on, the world would be an exhibit worthy picturesque scene. Greatness comes from individuals collectively coming together with one mission in mind. Greatness however can't be achieved if these individuals are subconsciously using this mission to define their purpose in life.

The only way to accomplish something is to be sure you're mentally and physically prepared for all life as to throw at you. A peaceful within breeds a peaceful without.

Hours, days, months are spent judging, focusing, reacting to the those with our foggy eyes as we proclaim to be on a reflective purpose mission yet our mirrors remain steamed. If you spend days drenched in copious mind altering clutter, the world has won. Figuring out who we are as individuals should be in the forefront of our conscious mind. Pick up a towel and clear the damn mirror.

Be comfortable alone. Shut the hell up. Turn it off. Just breathe. Go outside, close your eyes and unveil the beauty of your unique soul. What the world needs is more individuals who have discovered the importance of their souls and continue to study their bodies power to launch its meaning.

Simplify. Stop pretending. Start being. Cluttered minds make wasteful souls. Filling your life with materials, meaningless relationships, small talk and nanosecond schedule gold star seeking check lists are mechanisms to keep ourselves from focusing on the inward.

Spend time focusing on who you are, so others mimic your passion. If we all just were a tad better at being kind, mindful humans what a wonderful world this could be.

But, hey. This is just my opinion and yours is the only one that matters.