In My Mind I Love You All

January 7, 2012

I always wonder what happens to the pretty faced girls that I see and admire but don’t have the heart to talk to. On this night I saw a woman with the right lips, the right skirt, the right complexion, and the right demeanor but I saw her at the wrong time.

It’s always the wrong time when a woman appears to be so perfect. After all I am deeply attracted to flaws. Yet I still wonder if that woman is thinking about me. Did I strike her? Was she moved? Or am I nothing to her—just another man passing by; just another potential failure? And as I sit here fantasizing about a perfect future with a woman who I have never met I realize that if I had spoken to her then I would not be writing about her now.

Mystery is an awesome muse. I would like to thank all the beautiful women I never talked to for inspiring me. And I hope that this piece lasts longer than any real life relationship that we may have had. For in my mind I love you all.

-YB

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…..On Muses

December 30, 2011

Mixing it all in shows amazing resolve or rather one must show amazing resolve in order to successfully mix it all in. All of the fear, all of the embarrassment, and all of the weakness. Put that all on the stove, heat it up, and pour it in a cup. Don’t wait for it to cool down either. Just put it straight to your lip and let it burn your mouth.

 

That’s what good art is. Good art is irresistible yet painful and it is so irresistible because it is so painful. When something hurts so good one can’t help but to share it with everyone; “Have you seen that movie, have you watched that play, have you heard that song, when are you going to that exhibit? The one that almost made me cry. The one where the artist tortures herself for us.”

 

We suspend everything to be engaged. No time, no space, nobody else in the room with us. No clothes on our bodies, no make-up on our faces, and no lotion on our skin. No brush against our scalp and no comb through our hair. The only thing that matters is the only thing that counts. We see the projection of our souls against the wall, on the stage, or rattling the speaker-box and we remember that our individuality is not specific only to us. Our isolation has been connected to another being, and our overwhelming sense of loneliness has been transformed into so many brush strokes on an open canvas.

-YB