If you were to ask me to write for you a symphony I would instead teach you to compose.
I would show you how I see the world so you can hear the world as I do.
Its an industrial symphony that I hear.
The streets are the sheet paper on which this masterpiece is written.
If you would join me on this walk I will show you how the streets can speak the song of the world.
The song of the world is flowing and it takes people like you and I to keep the song moving.
The song is an eternal one carried along by the honks and beeps of cars, the revving of engines and the sound of angry drivers wishing to get home.
The buildings are dynamics with which the symphony follows.
The more you are able to listen the more your urban symphony will flow.
Follow the streets as I did and you will find your way into my heart.
If you were to ask me to write a symphony for you I would say, “Just hear the world as I do.”
This is so dreadfully beautiful I had to share it.
I always find myself to be envious of painters and photographers.
Their art yields immediate results and gets deeper the more you stare.
Writing, the craft which I enjoy, yields no immediate result.
It is for that reason that I bought A camera.
My camera helps me to capture every moment that I see fit.
When my camera takes pictures, it captures ideas and moods but no scene.
My pictures are able to be expanded and changed as I see fit.
My camera is the direct link to my soul
where sometimes you may sneak into for a while.
My camera is a little black book and whether you know it or not, I’m taking a picture right now.
I’ve turned my shadow to shoplift light from the back pocket of levity, bend my forehead to the kiss of brevity hoping I could get through depression with some semblance of speed.
But the life camera feed is under 24 hour delay, so I keep reliving the worst parts of yesterday in slow motion.
And someone once told me that the finer points of devotion are about the size of a pin hole.
But there’s millions of ‘em, and if you can connect each dot then you’ve got a diagram of what you think you thought you knew.
And if you are willing to admit you know nothing, you’ve got a blueprint for a breakthrough.”
She sat there beside me appearing as if nothing in the world was wrong
but on the inside she danced with thoughts of suicide.
When she finally admitted to me this desire I was speechless.
For me I find myself to constantly be out of words…
“I wish I could write you out of this.”
I said, wishing that my only, and useless talent could save someone.
“You can,” she said. “write me a bed which I can sleep. Where the feelings of being a failure cannot reach.”
And so, after a long hiatus, began to write. I wrote her a sign, that made use of every design and every line I have ever written.
I poured out to her the infinite blueprint of my universe so that she my feel in-control of just one life.
And yet, “This is not what will save me.” She said.
So I continued to write its became less for her and more for me, seeing if could expand the depths of my ability, my only true craft.
I wrote for her a mountain on which she could stand to see the world.
And when saw the world from those great heights she reminded me of something I said long ago, “Remember when you said you would never write again? When you said you would quit. Well, look at you now.”