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MENTAL OPULENCE

I am a left-handed, right-brained artist, pianist, writer. I believe in the magic of the electric guitar. My faith in humanity is unbridled & rapid, unchanging yet filled with responsible pressure. When it comes to PASSION, I hold no punches. I embody convictions far more courageous than the reserved self I project. My waters, while respectively deep, rush constantly, without stillness.

Little more than subtle, a far cry from invisible. A believer in my sexuality being powerful. Cunning, sometimes.
Revel in your ART.

SEE MY PAST POSTS FROM:
December 2010 January 2011 February 2011 June 2011 July 2011 August 2011 September 2011 October 2011 February 2012 March 2012 April 2012 May 2012 June 2012







Dare to demand that which your heart conveys; I live for nothing less than learning all that I can possibly know. The crime is to believe in ignorance as a term in itself, let alone a lifestyle. Be that which intellect insists -- learned.




Commit TO LIVE & LOVE WITH CAUTION FREELY.


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Be happy with random things in life. Above all else, be whole.







Dividends of the Psyche, Matters of the Heart.
December 2010 January 2011 February 2011 June 2011 July 2011 August 2011 September 2011 October 2011 February 2012 March 2012 April 2012 May 2012 June 2012

The ART of STORYTELLING
10.30.2011 || 3:23 AM



I'm painting an ornate portrait. Not of you.

What I've been gifted in the form of your most honest & natural self, I'd never embody the skillful will to duplicate.

For, you alone are as perfect a self as one's self can be. Flawed, humanly, to impeccable perfection. Redundance disregarded, I see you in this exact way.



With the typical inward battle I continuously have with myself, I've fought tooth-and-nail to not write of you. No parts, no bits, pieces, or breaths. The story all but wrote itself, honestly; I could in no way deny you. And, after intense bouts with insecurity, unsure disposition, and eventual utter anbandonment of any past reservations, I no longer attempt to -- deny. The reasons are just no longer evident, not real... no longer there. I shouldn't.


I'd rather take in the undertaking. The task, allbeit, of embracing whatever it is you are.
Before I ever request that you change one aspect of this, you, I'll splatter the art of this, YOU, about my canvas. Flailing, flinging, smatter, indulge... in your hues  and tints only you may leave upon my thin paper surface. There will be no mistaking my intent to portray nothing less than your imprint upon me; it's all I'll need, after all.

That's all I have to say. My fever has risen with just the mention of said art. This is a story without an ending, I fear -- but I welcome a cliffhanger. My existence was once nothing without definite endings.... I no longer see this as my fate, so long as your essence lays deeply embedded in my brush.

----- TRUTH ----