A BIRD ON THE EDGE OF SPACE.
For if dreams die,
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams.
For if dreams go,
Life is a barren field
Covered with snow. -Langston Hughes The above is a draft written in July of 2013. I think I will finish it today. "SHE TOOK THE LEAP AND BUILT HER WINGS ON THE WAY DOWN." The sign was posted on a house just a mile down from my home, in between the Phinney Ridge and Fremont neighborhoods, nailed up on the wall between two doors of a duplex. The duplex still stands, the sign long gone, as I suspect the tenant who posted it. The neighborhoods have changed a bit, the result of progress and prosperity of industry, and yet, strangely, now slightly bled of beauty and creativity. The folks who live there now are less likely to pin up a hand painted piece of wood with the stencil of poesy. Dreams still stand, though. The arrogance of ambitions, the drive to go up, up, up is still nestled in the hearts amongst us. In me. Is it also in you?
Currently, I'm in a tumble of urges prompted by a lifelong dream. Seemingly I am quite good at failure. Um, failures. Also, seemingly, I've become convulsively, amazingly persistent in the drive to keep dreaming.
Keep going. It's what makes this life switch the mundane repetitive acts of eating, shitting and sleeping to the divine push to make rainbows out of piss storms. Girl Icarus, you were never so good as the false belief that you could out shine your wings
in the orbits of the sun. - RQ Bella