picnic in the park & thoughts on writing

My South American sister Consuelo and I had a Valentine’s Day picnic in the park yesterday. There’s a lot of debate over V-Day. As usual, I see both sides. I don’t really want a lover giving me colored cardboard out of capitalist force – but a day dedicated to making out is fine by me.

We drank Italian champagne and New Zealand (shout out to Kerry!)  sauvignon blanc. It beautifully complemented an assortment of Mediterranean treats like dolmades, baba ganoush, goat cheese feta, and baklava. I nearly start drooling thinking about it…

While I was writing over the weekend I was thinking about the way my mood shifts amongst my work. For example, sometimes I feel like working on this… other times I feel like working on that…

I really have a great amount of respect for artists that start one particular project that they are so passionate about they fly through, start to finish. I feel like my ideas scatter too much for that. So although I have no issue with working consistently… I have to switch up genres after a few days… otherwise I feel like whatever I’m working on starts going a bit flat.

Something else I was over-analyzing (can’t help it) about my work are the various perceptions generated by each piece, both by myself and my audience (because our cult is an audience, you know…) For example I write sad things on happy days and happy things on angry days. Yesterday I received some feedback to a short story I wrote that said ‘… I haven’t seen such deep emotion in a piece for some time.’

I feel like humans are generally sensitive creatures. I guess I try to grab that sensitivity, tie it in all sorts of knots with frayed ends, and spit it back out in my Writing.

I wrote this poem when I woke up yesterday…

a deep sea diving proposal

you asked.
for me to go
a tone
deeper. and i never…
words to describe
thoughts. do you
have those, of me?
pieces of
this puzzle. don’t fit
times i exhale.
syllables in cries.
letters on paper.
my firecracker heart.
see, i did
reply. respond with more
force – unlike me at all.
i can’t pull tides.
salt water
going for a swim.

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