Wait a minute

Wait a minute
You're not a star
You're a helicopter.

The Chimney Next Door

Dear next door neighbor,
I am a big fan of your chimney. I see it through my window every day. Each morning when I wake up, the sun is there in the exact place to make it shine in a really beautiful red color. Against the rest of the really calm and grey morning, it makes me feel good about something, because beauty still exists in the smallest forms. You probably don't think much about your chimney but it makes me smile and be grateful for the smallest things every day.

On Musicians

Something I always think about but still don't have a definitive answer to is about where music happens. Who is most responsible for the creation of a great performance? Is it the composer or the musicians? Being a musician is something I can somewhat do. Being a composer, not so much. (I wish.) The composer writes the notes and there is definitely a completely different feel to Beethoven then there is to Tchaikovsky or something. But then Janine Jansen also has a completely different feel than Perlman.

blah

Sometimes I feel like the ideas I keep to myself are worth more than the ones I share

"Morning Page" actually in the middle of the afternoon

There is a small snail on a branch and it is wondering what his branch looks like

Day 5

Things that she said
Open your heart
Uncloud your mind
Let yourself go
But stay on the ground
Look up at the sky
And come back inside

Day 4

Let's pretend
The world is a bubble of green
Cradled by the sun and the moon
Blanket of sky
Let's pretend
All we'll ever need to know
Can be found in this rolling cloud
This twinkling star
Let's pretend
The earth will hug me like this
The wind touching my skin
Tucked safely into my heart
Let's pretend

remember that one time i came up with something good? I can't remember what it was.

Creating happiness is just a more self-confident version of finding happiness. 











Pranav forced me to post this

Things die

I wonder how long it takes a living note to die. Is there a certain day when a living note is no longer living but is then dead? Maybe it follows a sort of exponential decay pattern. Because after something is mostly dead it's still alive kind of. Do dead notes come back to life?

Morning Pages: The Butterfly

Just like a butterfly that fluttered into my window, is how you came. It is hard to notice anything but your fragile wings, and the translucent glittering colors in sunlight. I try my hardest not to scare you away, but you can't afford to be caught. If you had just stayed a moment longer, just long enough for my memory to sketch out... Well. What would I do? Share it or keep it greedily to myself? I suspect your secrets might be better off with someone else. So it's better that you left, went back to dance in the flowering meadows as a butterfly should.