ALTER EGO FAMILY [7]

Speak and then be spoken, too.

Guitar Joke:

I broke my G-String fingering a minor.

How do you kill ten flies?

Smack Samantha in the face with a frying pan.

(:

Exactly.

Merely kidding.
Grawr, I need a woman's opinion.. Tell me what you think of this.

I sing to the sky and laugh at the earth, because this is my art.
I challenge other people's assumptions by pretending they don't exist. Nothing I have done this month has been easy, so I keep doing it all, this is my art.
My muse mocks and tempts me. My muse laughs at me. I love my muse, this is my art.
My muse is a waterfall, overwhelming and enveloping. She dares me to jump off my safety and plunge inside of her. She crashes down on top of herself and through us both. She is my art, and I love her still. I love her with fear and the air rushing past my ears.
My muse is a brick wall. She doesn't notice that my body slams limp against her. Stone and mortar, she is unyielding. She is my art, and I love her still. I love her with hope and fearless admiration. I love her the way that poets entice young women into falling past their boundaries and into beauty.
Her comfort grows, but her fear does not wither. I whisper nothing gently to her, I tell her that love is greater than troubles, and fear is what holds us back from being alive, that it's better to fail than to walk away. I tell her the story of the world and the song of the stars. I tell her that I'm only a man trying to do the best with what he has been given. I tell her this nothing, and many more nothings. I tell her this with my breath and my tear. She is sleeping, and I don't know if she heard me or would understand my nothing if she had. She is my art, and I love her still. I love her with protection and strength. I love her like a mother bear and a guardian God.
I fall into sleep. My muse is my dreams. She dreams me of the next day, of waterfalls and brick walls and scared kittens. She dreams me of jumping for water and landing on stone. She dreams me of finding my warmth leaving me into black and white fur. She dreams me of eyes that never blink and never open and see everything. She is my art and I love her still. I will love her tomorrow the same way I loved her today. It isn't supposed to "work", it isn't supposed to suddenly change. It is who I am, and what I do. It is how I can accept that I will keep breathing until the day I stop, and the wind will blow my breath away and my memory will be lost in the next rain. It is what I need to do, and she is my art. I love her still. "

Alrighttt. Good.

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