Friday, May 18, 2012

Secrets, secrets are no fun.

Cardigan - J.crew factory, shirt - f21, shorts - DIY thrifted, necklace - f21 clearance wooot, journal - gift!

Meet Secrets. 

She's the shy little journal I take with me everywhere I go. She is the vessel for the one off, crazy ideas that come into my head before I pull a Kubla Kahn and am interrupted before I can finish my thoughts (that Coleridge poem has become the irony of my life.) Just the notion of someone snatching her from me and dissecting her content makes me shutter. Some of these ideas are bizarre even to me after a second glance, not to mention these are the barest essentials of things I find meaningful. Secrets would, of course, make very little sense to the outside perspective - I fear if I were forced to explain to someone what I meant by what I wrote at times, the value of having Secrets would be eradicated. Everything in  Secrets is like an abbreviation for an even bigger idea, or contributes to a higher purpose. Some nights I keep her by my bed and when I can't sleep, I'll write what I'm thinking about. Most of it is undecipherable handwriting, and not being able to remember what I was thinking about at odd hours of the night doesn't help break the code.

That seems to be the nature of most facets of inspiration these days - it's something gently realized as in a passing observation that rings truer and truer the more it's pondered. I don't understand these poets and writers who produce multitudes of stories, each with dimensions of plot that entertain sub-concepts when I feel like I use the same word too often. I only call a poem or story finished when I've given up the chase of expressing my idea in the realest translation possible. 

Someone told me Leonard Da Vinci wrote his to-do lists in his journals opposite the first draft sketches of his major masterpieces. While I juggle the heftier concerns of my artistic development,  I wonder about what I'll wear. My closet is like a puzzle that has no finished product, I just keep rearranging the pieces until I like what I see. I guess I do this with stories and poems too. Some days it comes easier than others. I just have to make the most of the days that count. 

Everyone needs a Secret in their life. Mine was a gift, and its one that continues to give. These pages are like mirrors where you can learn about the strangest ways the human mind ticks and tocks. 


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