backyard crowing
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how?
how do i make you understand?
how do i sit you on my lap and tell you everything?
how do i give you the glasses, rose or blue,
or any other hue?
how do i fit you in my shoes?
how do you cry my tears?
how do you lend your ears?
how can i make you see?
how do i reveal all?
how do you break my fall?
how can you rescue what's inside me?
how can you read this?
how can i let you read this?
how do i capture your attention?
how can i get you to stop gawking?
how do i reach out to the audience
and touch them, each and every one?
how do they know it's me?
how can they believe?
how can they feel me--but not me, themselves?
how can you know that i am you
and you are i?
how can we level out?
how do you see us?
how do you see two?
how can i show you it's we,
us, one--
not you, nor i,
but the whole stretch of humanity?
how?
tell me,
try.
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sometimes i know i want to write, i just don't know where to begin. where do i begin? what is interesting? what would people want me to write, but more importantly, what do i want me to write? what will lessen my pain? to hell with audiences, right?
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there's a lady name julie (or julia) something and she has a system that helps writers out of their blocks. the key is to write three pages each morning on anything at all that you want to write about. these are called the morning pages. the more i think about this diary, the more i realize that these pages are my morning pages, only i don't always have time to write three of them. these words don't lend themselves to readers, and in morning pages, it's okay to whine. i therefore want to bring the title "Backyard Crowing" back into the spotlight. i dubbed this journal backyard crowing because i wanted to let loose and feel like i could say anything at all, to crow unabashedly in my backyard, home alone, where nobody who knows me could ever hear. i don't know my neighbors. some would tell me that it's sad i don't know their names, and that i should make more of an effort to befriend them. but the truth is that just because you live next to someone doesn't make you their buddy. sure, some fence sharers hit it off nicely, and their offspring join in the fun, but there's nothing wrong with briefly meeting them and going about with the rest of your life. but it's these neighbors that see you every blue moon in your underwear tearing across the living room to grab the pair of pants you left in the dryer. they see what you throw out/discard/don't value, they smell your barbeque, they get glimpses of your friends and family. these people observe only parts of you, but parts that most others don't dream of ever seeing. i think it is the same with blogging. a blogger has strangers, or neighbors, who read their work, but not usually everyday, only on occasion when they have time. they take a peek every once in a while at someone else's life, and they check up on one another. you may not know your neighbors, but you'd at least notice if one of them moved into a new house or changed URLs. blog reading is spying on those neighbors, taking a closer look at humans. you can read a blog written by a person who lives thousands of miles away from you and still be able to understand what they're enduring, to find ways to cope, and to feel like you're not alone. blogging brings us together and helps us comprehend what it is to be human. this is one reason why i blog, and why i read blogs...
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wow, this is so surreal. i am outside of my house, the sky is thundering, a yard guy is blowing leaves into the street, my neighbor is chatting on her cordless phone, the wind is blowing, the sky is dark, cars are driving by, and i'm listening to a gnarls barkley song.
i live for these weird moments!
a bird just flew by...
- Wednesday, Jul. 05, 2006
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