When I was younger, I had brash and bravado.  Now that I'm older I am cautious, a bit fearful, wary of what I say and to whom I say it.

My tongue has stilled but my mind has not.

I have seen more.  I am more choosy about what I remember, and how I remember it.  I am stronger, and hope to convince the rest of my self that this is true.

My aunt died, I wrote about her here.  I want to have pansies added to my body, ink pressed into flesh so that my body will remember someone I'll never forget.  Maybe a few cornflowers to invoke her eyes.  A pink, red flower for the lips ever painted.

If my mind is a garden I worry that it needs weeding and tending to.

The connectedness of modern day adds a layer of complexity with which I struggle.

It's like this...
 
The internet gives you a couple dozen ways to express yourself.

Without the warning that one day you will grow up and change from who you were.  But whatever you put out there will still be there.

You don't know who your audience is.  You don't know when your employer may find what you wrote.  You don't know when a trusted company may turn and bite the hand you so willingly offered (I'M LOOKING AT YOU GOOGLE).

There is only so much editing a girl can do.  I can't curate how you see me.  I can't decide how you will feel about me.  I'm incredibly careful with how I present myself digitally but I refuse to worry anymore about it. 

Sometimes, I read blogs. Not very often, and not very consistently. But I do. And I think, 'Holy Hell, I could do this better... oh wait. I do have a blog! I just don't write in it! Because that would take follow through, dedication, a lack of a yammering inner critic who won't shut her damn pie hole. I digress.

If you are still reading, thank you. If you are still reading and hoping that I will write regularly, seriously THANK YOU. Light a candle for me, say a prayer that I will follow through this time.

xo

k

Am debating about changing the location of this blog (from blogger to wordpress for example).

Am pretty sure that said change would have a steep learning curve and would be time consuming.

Think I should write rather than design.

Feel free to weigh in with advice and opinions.

Hello! I haven't written on here in quite awhile. I also haven't painted, taken a photo, twisted metal into jewelry, or sown more than a button. It's hard to write. It's hard to be creative. There's so many other things that vie for my attention. Dishes to wash, stores to shop, sites to surf, tv to watch. Who wants to cocoon themselves away with the frustrating solitaire of creativity?

Well, I do. Sort of. Sometimes. I want to tell stories and produce things. I wish there were a way to turn of the critic inside my head. The one who is so hard to outrun. She is on my back and it's rare that the speed of my thinking drowns out her cackling.

Do you know what I think every writer should do? Read. An artist cannot go through the world blindfolded, how can an author not read? I don't understand that. Maybe I can justify this lack of produce as a time of fallow. A time to let crops grow. A time to gather material. Ah, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Press publish. Shut self up. Produce produced.

her complexion is pale with malnutrition,
cheeks and skin painted back to health with a deft hand

perfectly sooted lashes frame deadened eyes

and she pays good money, to ink up the flesh
she just sold to you

Commercial Lust...

Me want the pretty pretties...

http://ifitshipitshere.blogspot.com/2009/07/artist-decorated-brain-buckets-raise.html

I use my bike as my primary mode of transportation. Problem is, I HATE wearing a helmet. I do it. I do it the way that I quit smoking, despite not wanting to. With a helmet like these I may change my tune.