The Owl and The Pussycat

The Pussycat tattoo is coming soon.
The Owl and the Pussycat set out to sea in a pea green boat with honey and "plenty of money" wrapped in a five pound note. The Owl serenades the Pussycat while gazing at the stars and strumming on a small guitar. He describes her as beautiful. The Pussycat responds by describing the Owl as an "elegant fowl" and compliments him on his singing. She urges they marry but they don't have a ring. They sail away for a year and a day to a land where Bong trees grow and discover a pig with a ring in his nose in a wood. They buy the ring for a shilling and are married the next day by a turkey. They dine on mince and quince using a "runcible spoon", then dance hand-in-hand on the sand in the moonlight.

 Edward Lear

Art and about

Art is a voice. A powerful, beautiful voice in which our souls can soar in perfect melodic expression. Just as the universe is chaos orchestrated into a perfect tune of balance, we can use Art to transform darkness into beauty. Perhaps Art; in all its forms; is the only hope we have left. 

Art can be found in everything. Our planet itself is an artistic creation so beautiful.. Nature, the stars, our anatomy and the miracle of producing life. It is through Art that the beauty of mankind is realized. Music, paintings, sculptures and writing.. all bear testimony to the great things we are capable of as human beings. Art is our light in such a world as this. I find inspiration in those that are inspired; despite how dark and sad this world truly is. And in the heart of the poet that still loves ..even though it is broken. 

Like the rays of the sun, Art and words can reach out and touch the masses. And surely it is through Art that we can breathe love into this world? Everywhere I turn people are suffering… Withering long before they are due to die. Yes our bodies are dying everyday.. but each of us, in our own way, are dying internally in some way with every breath. The innocence of childhood snatched away from us by a world that can be immensely cruel. Is it not through art that our purest inner soul can be true to itself? What society weighs down with chains; breathes freely in art, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t it?

There is truth in art. Expression unmasked and fearless. In a world of media induced lies and the enslavement of our minds, Art is a channel for the beauty in our hearts. I do not believe in fighting violence with violence, so how do you change the world? Through love? Through inspiration and beauty? Am I mad to believe it is possible? 

We all have a heart.. we all know what is right.. we all have a choice… and these hands are capable of creating immense beauty…

I'm sorry

Sometimes, you think you know what you can give someone, you think that your words will have this healing power, that you will be able to give them what they've searched for years. You can list all the way you'd touch them, caress them, savour them in a hurried breath.
You know exactly what you would do to make them happy, because that's all you really want to do, make them happy. But sometimes, probing words and truthful sentences hurt more than they heal. sometimes, exposing their wounds to the world and offering to do stitched for them is more embarrassing than loving.
I am sorry, this was wrong, I have only ever wanted you to be happy, And I keep wanting you to be happy.

Her own Wonderland

Her mind wanders around, always. Whenever she watches a movie or read book, the character come alive in her head and they live forever after. Whenever she sees a photograph of a beautiful place somewhere on this earth or not, she lives there for a substantial amount of time in her mind. Sometimes there places are energetic, filled with interesting people from all walks of life and full of adventures. She lived in London, Tokyo, New York City even, and Amsterdam. Sometimes, however, they are peaceful, quite, tranquil, like Rome's St Peter square at night, or the lake of Geneva in early dawn. The top of the Alps, a small island in the Atlantic. She moves from one place to another in just a split second, with a look at a photograph. I wonder where she lives these days. Her body seated in the park under a tree, her mind might be living in a tiny, dirty apartment somewhere in Moscow with all the characters from Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland". I would love to come over for dinner sometimes.