Which to Bury, Us or the Hatchet?

Hey Out There,

I'm new to this whole blogging thing. I feel a little like Tom Hanks in Castaway right now, with my computer as my metaphorical volleyball, but I'm tired of random thoughts banging impressions into my skull. There's nothing that reverberates more than the echo of silence in your own head.

Let's see. I'm quirky. Sometimes goofy, sometimes profound, and optimistically honest. I'm a regular guest at the Heartbreak Hotel, an adrenaline junkie, and a poet. I believe in small changes, balanced politics, and big dreams. I've got brains in my head and feet in my shoes, and I'm not quite sure yet which direction I'll choose.

I love words. I love putting them together and then pulling them apart. I love Scrabble. I love music. I know that our heartbeat is the backbeat to the words we say and that's why we feel so awkward sometimes, because we rush ahead and forget the beat behind us. And that's why sometimes, just like an instrumental, it's better to just not say anything, because that's when you say the most.

Poem for today:

Backwards light and sidestepped mornings

A place where "anonymous" is your name.

Where you slide through shadows and sidewalks

and both are of equal weight.

Is there ever a point to reverie?

If it's not something you'd want others

to read, and who am I to say, if that's

Wonderful, or selfish - to abdicate from the world.

To relieve others of your presence or

deny petty empathy her theories of self-worth.

I mean, if they were never yours in the first place,

Pay homage in the currency it is due.

For language is generative, but-

Ideas are cyclical, and-

What we were at the beginning

is what we will be at the end,

Only upside down,

and backwards.

Quote for today: "When you are who you ought to be, you set the world on fire."

-- St. Catherine of Siena

TAFNF,

Elena