to blog or not to blog, Shakespeare do you read me.

I've sure read a lot of him. Actually in high school I think my mind lived more in the reality of a brilliant tale weaver that died in 1616 than I did the world of a chubby, awkward, popular enough not to get tormented me.

I wasn't going to blog tonight, actually I prefer to be sleeping by 2am, but, art weirdos don't do sleep well. We have issues, the kind that spark our most brilliant moments in the calm serene silence of the deep of night, or if you will the break of a new day. Often I'm left wondering if I'm chasing this pure silence solely to coral the bumper car thoughts I experience at like 32trillion bpm on any given day.

The good news, my lap top has finally decided its no longer European and I can use the " and the ' without them turning into a decidedly french e. My lap top is a teenage hipster that wants to shave the side of its imaginary head, download weird bands with weird song titles, and go find itself on the streets of Amsterdam after hours. Too bad I love her too much to let her go.

Today brought me no physical fitness, besides a torturous brisk as all hell walk to meet a fellow creative lefty for coffee, and what turned into some excellent surprise soup and the acquisition of a newly most prized possession (so many s's in possession I feel as though in a past life the word must have been a snake) My personally autographed novel from Chuck. (first name basis, sure; we've held the same object, he has willingly complied to the self given spelling of an otherwise regular white chick name, I am validated beyond measure for having both these things happen while I live and breath)

Here is the solid evidence that it is mine, complete with a cameo from my tattoos and over manicured claws. The better part about the way I got this book, its part of a bigger picture project about giving and sharing good simple considerate loving deeds with mankind. Ill explain what I have gotten myself into with this soon, but have to keep it to a minimum as to not accidentally spill the super awesome beans prematurely.

Not only is this signed but one of the greatest authors (in my mind) that has ever been, but it was an incredibly personally conspicuous story, it deals on a grandiose scale with the issues I have expressed already that are as much a part of me as my sea foam green eyes, or say type O positive blood. 

If you haven't read it, do, the impact it has plastered in my soul is a permanent one.

On Saturday on the recommendation of a brilliant beautiful friend I will be purchasing a new Margaret Atwood novel, an author who with her realistically biting style has scared the bejesus out of me in the past simply by being, well, real.

I haven't read Atwood in a long time, actually I haven't cracked a book since September 25th of last year. An unforeseen tragedy took someone from me this year that was the first person I ever remember "wanting to be when I grew up" and who, ultimately has given me the courage to start sharing my art. Even the title of this blog is an homage to her fascinatingly gracious life, some people simply draw a perfectly timed breath becomes art, and each one of hers were nothing short of awe inspiring beauty and strength. I find reading a terribly personal time, and with a sorrow filled mind it has been very hard to find the silence inside to not come up with a whole lot of sad. The worst part of losing a kindred soul, is feeling like you've also lost the times shared, the words uttered in calm and giving confidence and knowing they have had your back implicitly since you first arrived on the planet. Letting go of dreams and plans made because "you'd make time to see each other soon!! I promise!" and stopping to realize even if you want to so so badly it aches you can't ease the pain of the people she loved most. Tragedy so beautiful and cruel old Willy S couldn't even make light.

But I digress, hers is not a life lived without immeasurable inspiration and beauty, and as she has been since I have known the world she will guide me to be a mere shadow of the positivity and brilliance of what she is, was, and will eternally be.

Loves knows not the death of the body, because love lives outside of the mortal coils of time.

Im moderately jealous, because if there is some excellent fantastic afterlife party, let it be known that Merrick is top five on the guest list, sipping cocktails with Monroe and Hendrix and discussing shape, color and evolution of art with Michaelangelo.

And, word on the street is, however hottest a true babes bod was in her life, thats how you permanently look in heaven, there you go again love, setting that bar so god damned high.

call sign starbuck, in search of slumber.....xoh