spotted_mind's Open Salon Blog

Everything You Could Hope For

Sun, 1 Jul 2012 00:07:36 -0400

She told me:

Beautiful spring mornings, I would wait by the front door. Inside the front door, looking out onto beautiful gardens, I would listen to the morning birds sing. For many, many years later, every Spring when I heard those morning birds, I would be back at that front door and thinking of you. To this day, I love to hear birds sing…

I can see all the angles from a pencil: sharp, dark where they need to be, the proper amount of smudge, perhaps a charcoal… the brushstrokes for an occasional infusion of color—yellow, I want...only through the windows, as I see it. Watercolory, hopeful “Happy Yellow” but severely muted, so as not to take away from the hard edges that the rest of the picture deserved and needed.

Can I get it right? From my mind, to the paper…is that the struggle of an artist?

I haven’t even tried yet, but I will.

While Y'all Were Away Enjoying Your Weekend and Just Because

Sat, 3 Sep 2011 16:09:44 -0400

Resting by the Tumtum tree

Mon, 12 Jul 2010 12:07:37 -0400

When I was 9 years old, there was a school assignment to memorize a poem.

I chose Jabberwocky.

What a weird little kid.

It was a challenge with all its nonsense words and phrases, but there was still meaning to it.

Sort of like this blog…

I’ve gone back & forth between poignant and silly, heartbreak and humor, but I think I’ve let you all see me as a person, in good times & bad. I’ve been on OS for about 15 months, I made a lot of friends, wrote some really good stuff (I think), and got to witness some of the most epic dust-ups! Now I feel myself going in another direction. I have started to feel like my topics are the same old thing, and have become complacent with this “identity.”

Of course there are many OSers to thank—for the support, encouragement, friendship and virtual hugs. I don’t want to leave anyone out, so I’ll not name names, but many of you have given me SO much that I have carried through into my “real life” and I’ll never forget that. Being a part of OS has changed my life.

Thank YOU.

I have backed up my blog to a flash-drive, but am leaving my favorite posts here. I’ll not delete my account (as all my comments throughout OS will also disappear and I know how much that sucks). I do not plan on logging into this account again, but I’ll be around, perhaps with a new endeavor. ;-)

“He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.”

The Answer to Andy's Death Cult

Tue, 4 May 2010 13:05:10 -0400

So after a few brief thoughts, I have decided that I don't need to start a Death Cult as Andy suggested.

I will simply build a time machine which, according to Stephen Hawking, should be relatively easy once I acquire the necessary materials. How hard could it be to get my hands on "a wormhole, the Large Hadron Collider or a rocket that goes really, really fast" ????

My destination will be Egypt, roughly 5500 B.C. and all I will need to do is show them the following photos I have collected from the Internets, and it will end all the cat-worshipping:

*The last one is 'shopped of course, but they don't need to know that.

Because the cats are to blame for everything.

sort of bazaar

Sat, 27 Mar 2010 14:03:58 -0400

The elephants on parade just stood and watched.

Fresh cigarette smoke wrapped like a silk scarf around ylang-ylang incense trails and mingled with the vanilla/sandalwood fragrance of the candles burning. The late afternoon sun warmed the exotic spice air that filled my living room and he told me that it smelled like what Morocco looks like in movies.

“Sex on Fire” could certainly be heard, from the radio…

…from the wipes-off-easy leather sofa with the chocolate-plush faux fur throw that captured and held for days, maybe weeks, a strand or two of his long, jet black hair. Sounds were made. A low moan escaped someone’s lips, accompanied by the occasional faint clink of metal against a tooth. Elbows, hips, arms & legs jostling about created a jingle from the small bells that chimed out of the four corners of saffron yellow pillows.

He tasted like beer, youth, vibrancy, and belonged in this emporium of things that are intriguingly cool to me. Caught my eye, had to have it--to look at and to touch. A collection of curiosities, some set atop hand-painted shelves—stripes of crimson red, burnt umber, gold, espresso—like the bronze genie lamp, longing to be rubbed…