Hey folks,

Now that I've been aiming most of what I write in the field of my theme, what was once intentional, in terms of writing with a purpose (as far as content in mind follows) is now becoming a little more natural. I wonder maybe if it is that my perception that's adapted. I see cats differently now. One moment the lurking animals appear fixed like solid, staring, statues they are, and then the next moment the furry fellow friends are leaping  to fetch water from a basket. That the basket was my hand doesn't make that the practice contrived, I would argue---though, nonetheless, there may, indeed be an art to attraction or that might just be my attraction to art, understanding and feeling out a scene is a new play in the works. Where and how does language form? What compels it? An epiphany perhaps? But those moments occur rarely and when we least expect. To say "to be present," to be in the experience, holds endearing, genuine, i shout, significance! Yes? yes? no?  Maybe. I do think it does. Engaging with life in form as the body does, movement and such. Dashing. A pool. A spoon. A loom. Hardship? Gloom? Naughty nightmares. Confusion. Absence where there is desire. Losing and forgetting. Time! Time? tiiiiiiiiiime.

Too, I'm thinking about how much, I admire some of the memoir pieces written thus far as the language offers narrative and voice, providing a tale to the reader who embarks on a journey as they visit and come to terms, or at least interpret some familiar and some unfamiliar realities, too. Bit by bit and piece by piece, this stringing along, hum drum poo paw! raw.