writings. but it is also in loving direct towards my dearest friend
Brandi Gaspard. if not for her quick encouragement, I might not have
returned here!
its all about the wordplay.
to take a listen to a single word anyone has said, is the same as taking
a dive into the deep ends of their heads. a word derives from a thought,
that of which is borned from a mind. a mind is a posession of a person,
and a person is indeed, different from another. one word means one thing
to ourselves, and another to the other. [note to reader: this is not to
be confused with the misinterpretation of common words; i.e., there,
their and they're.] in a way, the ever popular motherly advice of,
"choosing words wisely" can be seen right through between the loopholes
it holds. if choosing our words wisely was so important, then what is
the purpose of the word: interpretation? words, no matter how well
chosen mean completely different things to everyone and anyone. perhaps
I'm being repititive and my point is getting no further than your eye's
glimpse, nowhere near your mind. if that is just so, then may I so bold
as to tell you, that premeditated meanings are, well, meaningless.
they say it is best to write of what you know. but I can't help but
wonder, is it wrong to write of what you do not? or is it just "not as
good," so to speak. I've never been one to go by statistics and I find
its best to write of what I don't know. the space in the mind for
curiousity and learning is much more vast than that of which is already
acquainted to our knowledge. I wish to write of the birds in flocks that
fly south in the winter, but to also write of the birds left behind; do
they fly alone or join birds of a different feather whom also were left.
I wish to tell the stories of the lovers that love longtime, and include
my curiousity of the casual daters finding what they call "love" in just
the instant of a minute in mind. I want to write of the little knowledge
I have of the handsome gentlemen I pass on the streets where I know
nothing but the smile on the face that I may or may not have been lucky
enough to receive. in the long run, there isn't much to say about what
we already know. there is much more to write of what we long to know,
for we can ask and write as many questions as we wish. writing the
already knowledegable isn't wrong to me, if that's what youve been
thinking. but, writing all the questions and eventually writing answers
if found, engages me much more. after all, a question consists of words,
and words are what? [quick review: words, are interpreted however we
wish!] how much more would there be to ponder on if we have more than
just answers, but other questions that we can conclude on our own?
an author, an artist, a singer or dancer never tells the reader, the
listener, the viewer or the audience what the point is that we are all
wishing to get across. a passionate author writes to a reader to allow
them to intepret the meaning of a story on their own. an artist creates
art for the viewer to admire at for the bigger picture or main message
that is hidden, on their own. a singer dancer never reveals the message
in the lyrics even if it is a true story from true experience, it is for
the listener to hear and reflect on, on their own. a dancer does not
spill the secrets of each move they make, it is for the audience to
watch and analyze, all, on their own.
my words mean what they are to me, and I can only imagine what they mean
to you. but that's what I want, with all the space of curiousity in my
mind, what you think just adds to my own ponders. and all this
unfamiliar knowledge is what allows me to continue writing long
nonsenses to you.
not so redundant have I been this time to telling You how in love I
really am with You. I love everything You are and can be.
take care, more than well,
-jLv
--
jessieebugg.
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