You who are so good with words/And at keeping things vague

i made a conscious decision while brushing my teeth this morning to work on becoming a better storyteller. it is a luscious craft when practiced with enthusiasm and genuine care for your audience. i am/will be the storyteller in my writing. these days my writing takes the form of lyrics. i have creative momentum and it feels...refreshing. now i just need the notes to bolster the talk. creative energy has a rush like none other. i do hope that i am able to wrangle that energy and exploit to my advantage.

i've been reading Positively 4th Street (musings on joan baez, mimi baez farina, richard farina, and briefly, bob dylan). it's something interesting to experience the early musical life of the baez sisters, although i'm also seeing a thread of thievery in joan baez. maybe she just needed to get comfortable with herself, her own presence. that's something similar to what i've been experiencing lately, getting comfortable again in my own skin, asserting my presence, regaining my voice. i didn't think reading something like this would cause such reflection.

speaking of reflection, i had a wonderful moment of clarity saturday night. after seeing the essex green at the red room (which, a moment in itself, was an amazing show and caused a fiery need in me to create--i also had the realization that i know NO ONE in the creative community anymore and that i want to know every single person i saw there), we headed over to Schimmel's to join friends for Subway night. for those of you reading who are unawares of the greatness of the Subway (not the eat fresh! sandwich, kids, a bonified juke joint), i'll fill you in: in a nutshell, Subway was a downtown Jackson dump, a hole in the wall firetrap. BUT! the band, the house rockers, are an awesome group of musicians with true blues in their souls that bleeds from their fingertips. they were often joined by other great musicians. the Subway has since shut down, but the band was taken in by the chi-chi place in my neighborhood.

saturday night i remembered what it felt like to be free. i danced, i danced, i danced. the night seemed so brief and surreal, but it was a moment of cleansing, of clarity, like i said. i even had my own personal romeo, vowing not to hurt me and shower me with care. i declined. i wanted, rather, to delight in my very own momentum.

it's all very overwhelming, but my path is clearing.