Saturday, May 1, 2010
Constantly nowhere, nonsense, not.
But still, we exist. And our adventures are the stories that fill book-after-book up with words. And whether or not we fall off the cliff, climb the mountain, fight the beast, or sit down on a rainy day and make a puzzle, we are reality.
And I think it's time we realize that no matter where we are, being lost, being found, at home, nowhere, caught in space, in wonderland, in the arms of a monster in a land faraway... that we live here.
Our story takes place Here.
Here, being lost. If here is nowhere. If it's somewhere.
We've been through this, anyway.
No matter where you are, who you're with, what you're doing, when...make it count. Make all of it count.
Something to remember along the lateral road of life:
Before a story gets published, the irrelevant writing gets edited out.
So. There's millions of normalcy out there, somewhere. In small piles, in desks, that got cut out.
And I'm just saying, a good story isn't all about the adventure, exactly.
Nor is it about the words.
It's about the meaning, the purpose, the position you're in, and how that relates.
So string together the meaningful moments in your life, and cut out the rest, and then you're free to wander, because you're not lugging around irrelevant crap that is really only pulling you down.