Sweet disposition: to be affectionately kind. This is how I’ve come to understand these two words. They all but disappeared from my vocabulary until the song of the same phrase by The Temper Trap enchanted my thoughts recently during an early morning rising. I was in the zen entrapment of holiday wanderlust so the moody…
Category: words from the wise.
insightful inspirations from authors and philosophers…humanitarians and politicians…musicians and poets…singers and songwriters – words, lyrics and rhyme that move me to pick up a pen.
and tell my own story.
you’re pretty much magic.
Reminder to self: you’re pretty much magic. I, like you reading this post, forget at times just how fiercely badass I am. Bipolar blurs the line for me often when I’m on the cusp of an emotional breakthrough. One moment I’m self-assured fabulous and the next I’m fretting about somewhere between calamity and chaos. I…
courage, and grace too.
the lyrics of your life can be struck by a single chord. your heart a cadence of melancholic refrain. the soundscape that is the song can capture your sentiment in a triad of moments – transmitting you back in time through the power of nostalgia. such a melody lets you linger there in the space…
songs are like tattoos.
reckless daughter: a portrait of joni mitchell by david yaffe has been my late night literary lullaby for the past few weeks. like many free-spirited millennials who cite “river” as their favourite christmas song, swoon over her chronicled and convoluted romance with leonard cohen, mimic her leather and lace ensemble, and embrace her folk lyrics as…
conversing with a cowpoke.
Patti Smith is my philosophical cowpoke. She appears in my drifting dreams; dialogue with her occurs while I sleep. Much like the “mysterious cowpoke [who] chanced upon in a dream to determine the course of the rock poet’s memoir, M Train,” Patti Smith reminds me, much like her cowpoke does, that “it’s not easy writing…
my own conversation with warhol.
i like my alone time. serene solitude. quiet moments where i can manifest and ponder. however, sometimes in my restful respite the odd lad or lass pops in to offer his or her companionship. he’s an artist or she’s a muso. he’s a pop culture icon or she’s a rock legend. i seem to appreciate…
who is your hadley?
You would think that with the passage of time, not being with you or hearing from you, you would fade away, but no, you are as much with me now as you were then.
Hemingway to his Hadley.
crazy heart.
i aspire to be a writer. i suppose i am a writer. i am committed to sharing stories; telling stories. literary vulnerability from my brain to your eyes. to read. to digest. to digress. it seems though that through my own reading — and research — i often come across a poet or a writer…
yesteryear’s goodbye.
note to reader: twas the serene, authentic prose authored by bryonie wise that compelled me to write my own yesteryear goodbye. “I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way,…
emotional excess.
“something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terrors, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.” -anais nin anais nin continues to be a saving grace for me. her profound wisdom somewhat like a bucket of ice water splashed onto my face. her words perfectly confronting and comforting….
static confusion. 