Shedding Skin, Shedding Lives

I could just move my blogger somewhere else. Let this one never be known again. But I don't. Why? 'Cause being part of who I am - ever-changing as we all SHOULD be in this lifetime, is precisely a huge part of who I am. Yes, I speak weirdly - but that is what comes with language as you try to shed. Shed that skin. CHANGE! It is evidently what is out there in store for you as 2019 makes your calendar pages on your wall change. From a lion to a cute dog, from a fierceful step down a tall waterfall to a cute little pig on Pig Island. Your calendar is whatever you would like it to be. That is what we should all learn. I speak non-sense. No-one *should* learn anything. We are all beautiful as we are, how we are, wherever we are. This is where the hippy talk loses you, isn't it? If it is, then would you please just question yourself why? If it isn't, I've got news for you; we're a-changing. How this world works, how this life does, how people perceive us

I was sitting on a bus today. Changed seats maybe twice or thrice, only. I consider it a battle - won, but who's counting? "California dreaming (straight line, as in a "straight dash" of some kind) Pacific Ocean" It's hilarious! His t-shirt. As he sits there, looking at me as if unaware of exactly how to be looking at me, as I sit there....on the back seat of what seems like a rollercoaster of emotions I could never ever fully synthethize. I can. Write in one or two words. I could sit long and steady as I describe how his braids worked; how the nuts in them waved from one side to another as did my stare. That envy. It's an inexplicable desire. As such, it is self-explanatory as the workings of this brain... Not his, maybe mine. Or the one to the guy who sits in front of me, next to him....on the other side of the aisle - to whom, yes...he is NOT currently looking. As I look away...from him and back to his side. whose side? I am losing track of a

Yo comienzo contándole una historia. A eso le pongo algo personal mío. Entre más educativo, mejor. Lo presento al principio, le meto un poco de mi producto en el medio (como un sánguche ) y lo cierro con un call-to-action. No le voy a hacer eso. Es la diferencia, por un lado, de escribir un blog comercial y otro por placer. Mucho más distinto, aún, si se hace por necesidad pelada al viento. Es mi única promesa, a veces. Un arrepentimiento Subir a escena tras el intento de suicidio de una persona a quien amaba. Pelarse el alma en el concierto de música de alguien que quería hacer pasar a su audiencia un momento tuanis. Es como pelarse el rabo escénico, pero no de la forma más grata. Quizás. Es una de las realidades. Sobre el cuido de lo que se pone en escena Entonces ¿Me importa, realmente? Hablar sobre esto.  Parte de mí: Otra Luego pensaba en las diversas personas que he sido. Y en cómo eso va cambiando con el tiempo. ¿Quién era mi madre? le pregunto, a veces.