(no subject)
I have this insatiable urge to make pottery this week. The warm, soft clay in your hands, your fingers creating it's shape...into something with function. The feeling of pulling up the sides from the lump of mass, thick at the bottom, stretching it evenly into sides. Lifting it from a dark, lifeless nothingness into a towering, stable beauty.
Making art is this force that tugs at my fingers, the pieces creating themselves as if they had a will of their own, like the canvas is taking my paintbrush where it wants it to go, not me. I get this yearning for something particular to happen, and these colors appear on the paper like magic, and once it's there, and I can't ever recreate again.
Since she spoke those words, I can't get them out of my head---reckless. I want to live with reckless abandon. I will be living recklessly. Beautifully, inhibitedly. When else can you live so recklessly? So recklessly. Yes. I will be living recklessly, and now is the one and only time I can.
There is no other time in my life I'll be able to be so reckless with my money. For a semester, I worked far too many hours for far more money than I deserved, and now is the perfect use for it. What better way to spend my savings, than life? I am taking a job with a quarter of the earnings I made here, with ten times the expenses........Oh well! I shall live recklessly, recklessly in love with my job.
I can already picture my tired feet on the subway, nights spent collapsing with joyous exhaustion, weekends filled with short havens of free recreation and air conditioning. The glorious feeling of loving what you do; grounded satisfaction mixed with exhilaration.
I think loving recklessly, is what we all long for. I remember searching for love I could dive head-first into with reckless abandon. I think it's a craving sometimes, a vision we long for.
But my love, my love is not reckless. They might think it's boring because of that, they might think it's missing the fieriness, the passion. But my love is different. My love is the kind of quiet stillness that holds me steady, a wave that swells in me with overwhelming peace, and ebbs to remind me of what I'd otherwise be missing, like the sweet warm waters we made love in, where you held me for hours.
I want to marry you in those waters, that rocky, quiet cove, hidden from the world. I want everyone chest-deep in that thick, hot water with us, the love-soaked tides penetrating them the way they penetrated me, wearing nothing but bathing suits and deep, genuine smiles. I want you holding me, cradling me in your arms, my body lifted entirely away from the earth with your hands, ceremoniously outstretched upwards to the sun.
When I was little, so young the lines between make-believe and reality were indistinguishable, I used to spend hours in the water, letting the water catch me gracefully inside it, enveloping me. I would spread my arms wide, the insides of my elbows seeking endlessly something in the water it couldn't find. All grown up, in those southern waters, you held my body, outstretched once again, seeking life to envelope me whilst in the comfort of your arms.
Making art is this force that tugs at my fingers, the pieces creating themselves as if they had a will of their own, like the canvas is taking my paintbrush where it wants it to go, not me. I get this yearning for something particular to happen, and these colors appear on the paper like magic, and once it's there, and I can't ever recreate again.
Since she spoke those words, I can't get them out of my head---reckless. I want to live with reckless abandon. I will be living recklessly. Beautifully, inhibitedly. When else can you live so recklessly? So recklessly. Yes. I will be living recklessly, and now is the one and only time I can.
There is no other time in my life I'll be able to be so reckless with my money. For a semester, I worked far too many hours for far more money than I deserved, and now is the perfect use for it. What better way to spend my savings, than life? I am taking a job with a quarter of the earnings I made here, with ten times the expenses........Oh well! I shall live recklessly, recklessly in love with my job.
I can already picture my tired feet on the subway, nights spent collapsing with joyous exhaustion, weekends filled with short havens of free recreation and air conditioning. The glorious feeling of loving what you do; grounded satisfaction mixed with exhilaration.
I think loving recklessly, is what we all long for. I remember searching for love I could dive head-first into with reckless abandon. I think it's a craving sometimes, a vision we long for.
But my love, my love is not reckless. They might think it's boring because of that, they might think it's missing the fieriness, the passion. But my love is different. My love is the kind of quiet stillness that holds me steady, a wave that swells in me with overwhelming peace, and ebbs to remind me of what I'd otherwise be missing, like the sweet warm waters we made love in, where you held me for hours.
I want to marry you in those waters, that rocky, quiet cove, hidden from the world. I want everyone chest-deep in that thick, hot water with us, the love-soaked tides penetrating them the way they penetrated me, wearing nothing but bathing suits and deep, genuine smiles. I want you holding me, cradling me in your arms, my body lifted entirely away from the earth with your hands, ceremoniously outstretched upwards to the sun.
When I was little, so young the lines between make-believe and reality were indistinguishable, I used to spend hours in the water, letting the water catch me gracefully inside it, enveloping me. I would spread my arms wide, the insides of my elbows seeking endlessly something in the water it couldn't find. All grown up, in those southern waters, you held my body, outstretched once again, seeking life to envelope me whilst in the comfort of your arms.