dress - Aerie by American Eagle
vest - Modcloth
combat boots - Kohl's
*photos taken by the lovely Jena of Charming Anachronism*
I am a person who loves language and communication and the act of sharing thoughts and emotions with others, whether it be through art, literature, voice, or a scientific thesis (but I'm not much of a fan of that last one). That said, sometimes I can get into a mood and no one understands what I'm saying.
That's kind of the point of it, though. I consider myself a poet (whether a good one or not, I'll leave up to you), and I often find myself thinking in poetic verse. The same goes for when I'm in a particularly photographic mood - I'll close my eyes and be so "in the zone," as it were, that I'll attempt to get the perfect focus on the insides of my eyelids! True story.
Last night, I was Skype-ing with a few friends (oh Skype, what would I do without you?) and I fell into that funny sort of mood. The one which prompts me to type or write (not usually speak - my words would get jumbled) exactly what runs through my brain. That could potentially cause problems, if I were actually thinking in structured sentences and about coherent ideas, but I wasn't. Here's an excerpt of my thought-vomit (or "the madness before the poetry," as my friend Julie phrased it, far more prettily). [I won't be insulted if you don't feel like reading through this mess, I promise :). ]
I'm only because it's the golden gate bridge, and anything that purple can't be.
But you see, what if there's an organism hiding in the air, when it belongs in a darker, deeper sort of liquidity?
Past future go going was going were going am are was going gone!
That's such a strange.....
That's the point of the world and the thing that stands tall over an ordinary tapestry - like if there's a black box levitating under a label of superiority, you know, tumbling, and the droplets of condensation fall like acid rain when there's only smoky choking gas to breathe from. Or a patriotic salute to the bending plastic of a different language.
Oh, and the shiny disks have eyeballs that watch when you dance in the water.
Not frozen but captive in time, waiting, for anything or everything and a drop of vinegar.
A word is a word is a pyre of malarity isn't what you think it is but orange in a bottle.
Double E and a method of splatters or sticksticksticksticking to the wall in an attempt to become invisible, or sunlit.
Supposed is a forgetfl instance in which only half of a numerical sign is representated.
They all go quiet because one is plenty of one in any instance because there is a pen and there is paper and then there is a novellic scripture of demonic reverence.
Anything sensical does be anything of belonging so whether there is a red red rose or a plastic smell hanging in the air like an execution the votive remains the same: empty.
Develop the picture in the ink puddles of a burnt-cold future, and when the hopeful sun has been swallowed by a foible faw saw, continue, because the watching is everything.
Continue dancing - it's only beneficial to sit when the legs are running through with tangs of itching brightness.
Barbed wire swirls around the wrist like a faux guardian platter of gunfire.
Can you follow? Because I don't following the tense or the brain keeps moving and doubling back or the marks on my skin don't fade but if you use soap...
Keep in mind, that's only a small excerpt of the nonsense pseudo-poetry my mind spat out late last night. It frightened most of my friends at the time, in a laughing sort of way, but I think I could come up with some decent poetry using scraps of this. Inspiration!
Do you practice any art? Painting, photography, writing, whatever-ing? How do you find inspiration?
PS - I promise I'm not [mostly] as crazy as this post makes me out to be. Maybe :)
PPS - I also promise I wasn't on anything illegal when I wrote this.... nope, just tired and in a strange frame of mind!