EMILY, MY LOVE:
this is for you:
"Suddenly it makes sense again. In no haze of mindfulness, staring down at this snow-covered quilt of America, I am the stars exploding. Voice shot down to hell, half sick, half recovered, alive and well and ready. The unknown for now will remain as such and in this moment that feeling is not one of suspension. It is the hopeful unknown. Reaching into the future could only be good now as the past is wrapping itself in ribbons and pleasant packing paper, rarely to be revisited. These years of heaven and hell in the belly of mortality's wait. This fierce time of self-doubt and confidence cracked. The vice/void solutions and dissolution of honor. Tracking along some dirt path to a forest of dead things where clearly I missed the 'no outlet' sign upon entry. All of this and somehow I have returned in a step-retrace for the record books. Fear is failing me now. Hope hides beneath fresh snow somewhere nearer sea level than I, at thirty three thousand feet, Michigan bound, by way of Chicago. But planes land and so do I, and suns rise, melting away the grounds cool protection. I am finally free, if only for this moment. And should that be the case, then know that I am throwing a parade in first class as I speak. Art has again saved my life, my love and me. What next? Who really cares? Certainly a toast will be in order. Make mine a double."
-from andrew 's blog (obv)
"Suddenly it makes sense again. In no haze of mindfulness, staring down at this snow-covered quilt of America, I am the stars exploding. Voice shot down to hell, half sick, half recovered, alive and well and ready. The unknown for now will remain as such and in this moment that feeling is not one of suspension. It is the hopeful unknown. Reaching into the future could only be good now as the past is wrapping itself in ribbons and pleasant packing paper, rarely to be revisited. These years of heaven and hell in the belly of mortality's wait. This fierce time of self-doubt and confidence cracked. The vice/void solutions and dissolution of honor. Tracking along some dirt path to a forest of dead things where clearly I missed the 'no outlet' sign upon entry. All of this and somehow I have returned in a step-retrace for the record books. Fear is failing me now. Hope hides beneath fresh snow somewhere nearer sea level than I, at thirty three thousand feet, Michigan bound, by way of Chicago. But planes land and so do I, and suns rise, melting away the grounds cool protection. I am finally free, if only for this moment. And should that be the case, then know that I am throwing a parade in first class as I speak. Art has again saved my life, my love and me. What next? Who really cares? Certainly a toast will be in order. Make mine a double."
-from andrew 's blog (obv)