and then...astronomical

I want to name a star after him, so that he will remember how much I love him every time he looks at the sky. But if he doesn't think he deserves my star, then I must dance with the void. 

I intend to name a star after him, though. and take long walks and make kisses and share dreams and secrets and all fear, speak through walls and carry his voice over the sea. And get a job. And learn to sing and dance and play my piano for my love, but the first thing to do is to finish writing a novel.

It's like a single mother leaving for work. Abandon the children or abandon the children. Feels like you're stuck, but we are never stuck.

Mickey Willard tells me that inspired art has two parent characteristics: silhouette and contrast. How we love duality. I say desire and conflict. But what's the difference? Things connect so much more than we think. If there is one other person in this world brave enough to integrate, sing your name so that I may hear you!

This world is simple--life is simple--it is people who are complicated.

Anyway, back to silhouettes and contrast. I don't know how much synesthesia affects my visions, but I can't imagine that something as instinctual as creativity is inaccessible to some people. We are sensual creatures, and we can use our senses to solve problems. Me, I'm a visual person; but there's something for me to say about the shapes that sounds make. Humans can see patterns. You Translators can, anyway, you Critics and the like; perhaps you could translate my blogposts for the general public?

tricks of the trade...okay...take the best idea you have. The best sequence for that story. The best scene from that sequence; condensecondense. If you had to express the essence of your story in a twenty second video, how would you do it? 

Our instinct is to speed things up. Get in as much as possible as quickly as possible. You ready for this?

Take the best ten seconds. Imagine it in slow motion. 

And that's how I have boys sinking in water. Boys sink and wear vapor masks like snouts. 

and then...flux

I have enough for ten, twenty, thirty blog posts at this point.

His eyes looked heavy looking eyes, look. everything becomes his fault, flux, "FLUX! FLUX!" I hardly and doubt it. Arms have gotten so warm, and I wonder him. What all that my Anchor Premier used to know. 

Newborns, the mess of it. It's fantastic. We have been moving, really for the first time. I am a woman without a home and I had to pull a short story out of it. Boys come from water (we know that) and water rises. My Anchor Premier has been wet for all life and then. flux, he says. 

He stands on flux one leg here the other standing and doesn't know either side. Legs strain. I have him in bed to calm, mostly. Under sushine which stretches to reach his aspect and he smiles at it. Imagine giving birth to a real child! As if brainchildren didn't busy enough! This one has bigger eyes when looking up. His nose twitches like lost animals. 

What? Anchor Premier because he is the first Anchor. Anchor meaning he has representation in the outside world. Yes, it appears that characters can do that. The hell it gives, though. makes me saying things: "it's not possible!" and my boyz crying when they hear it. 

Everything was blue...all my fears, in this tangled mess of archaic blue, archetypes screaming, resurrecting, here's an element, there's another, boy+boy+boy quintesscent? No. Sometimes the world is just that beautiful. Sometimes we really do get exactly what we want, in exactly the way we imagined. And age from the date of conception. 

You better believe the Beta is satisfied! We need a tip of the day now. here's a tip. Write in pictures. I'll put pictures in all the posts from now on PREPOSITION STOP.  

and then...flood

It's so strange how people get shook up. Boy gets shook up 16 frames at a time, sped up. 

Why do people change? Why do they stay static? It's absurd. Adapt. Water fits its container and it flows but it's still water

which makes a speaking of 

water is coming. here comes the flood he wakes screaming FLOOD, FLOOD, FLOOD! and he steps to the rim and wants drop. 

Call him silent and gentle. You don't want to surprise him, he'll stumble, says Alpha. gentle, gentle, my Beta muse, come here now....

It was a dream. We have dreams. In his visions, floods happen. I tell him, but that's good. Floods give us water. You are water. Don't drown, beta muse. Every day you find a way to show me you love me. Every day you give me patience and every day you give me a chance. Every moment that I work to speak for you, you speak for me in nature, in people, and mostly in water. 

My protags wear copyrights like dogtags. Some of them are scared to go out without the dogtags. Can they swim? Oooh, let's not test that. No, really. Enough with the hazing. 

Ricky Moody wrote a story called BOYS and I like that story a lot. Aw, isn't she cute what blogs as distraction? I read Shelley's MONT BLANC and it was uncanny, flood-like. Loft, who knew? And the inventory! Drives me mad. The muses need this and that and that....take notes.

Alright, alright, the question is: what grows so high up in the mountains? What could, possibly?