I enjoy telling you, because it heals you and it heals me. The whole world becomes another existence because of just words. When I tell you in a picture, the picture never stops telling. I watch intensely inside, therefore it must escape my stare, upon the page. Then its ease grows to become a piece of me; my many children. I could go on. This is the drive of the story creator. I'm chained to it, I've dedicated my service. It calls me to sleep with clouds filling my mornings. I remember a teacher telling me I was wrong to daydream. Some of us are masters of it. So don't cut down another child. Raise her up from the boredom you've taught her. Let her wings find the escape from the torture at home. Let her heal you, as I have. The child without escape will only become a shell. Do not let another bury who they are, because I have a story of a little boy who did that.
To tell a story is the ability to take all the monsters and find out what is inside them. To escape in metaphor is not to check out of a life but to fill it. Can you love the part of you that is a puddle seeping into the carpet? Can you love the monster that was put upon you by the seeds of another? I've done these. I've survived these. This is a creator. Then, once these have gained their stage, you can talk of the love you've found. As I have in my Jane World stories. My monster was my Transient State tale. Oh, and my poems? ...those were and are, everything.
How about, let me sit here in deep thought, while you bring your camera to capture? Don't I give you what I can, with just my eyes. When I close them, crossing my knees, you can find something else bringing you inside. Did you capture it? Or, did you get drawn into the place I froze for whispers.
Could I take these bare hands I've just filled with paint, and capture the spirits dancing on the board. Washing my fingers to hold the brush, I take the lines and bring them forward. This is how my painting speaks. Did you catch it as you walked by them? Did you feel them take all your troubles and pain, leaving you there with only an image to enjoy? Now, that image has changed. More beautiful because you've witnessed it, because you see the world differently with your pain on there with me. You now move on, without your demon.
If I can heal the world with my words, my creations, please give me the strength to endure that kind of life. I will live here on this stage, pulled apart, open, and authentic for this.