Sentient Mentality

I think because I think I can


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Learning dad

Was a kid, till I had one.  Now I dad, every day.

Its a verb more than any other I’ve ever known.

Breathing might be a close second, but I can hold my breath when I want.

I can never stop dadding.  Not ever. Every decision.  Every second of every day.

Took becoming one to understand what my parents did for me.

Unreal.

Surreal.

Cereal.

Been almost a year of putting someone else first.

Taking exhaustion to new definitions.

I can never stop dadding.  Not ever. Every decision.  Every second of every day.

Pride; didn’t know what that was.

Now it can’t, won’t and don’t stop.

This kind of love ripens my soul.

Thanks kid, and thanks dad… you both teach me new things about dadding every dad.

I won’t ever stop dadding.  Not ever.

 

 

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Leroy

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Leroy

Leroy is one of my first oils intended and given as a gift to my friend who was upset over the loss of her little guy.  Leroy was his original name which she later changed to … I can remember.  I was with her when she got him and while I’m a “dog guy”, as far as little lizards go, I thought he was pretty cute.

Unlike most paintings, this was completely deliberate and thought out.  Although the specific details worked themselves out, I was able to tell it to myself as though a story from background to foreground.  It may be the only time that’s happened.

This style of mine has remained a constant since I picked up the brush for the second time.  The first being water colours as a kid.  I love a gradient background with varying levels of glaze to it, followed by as much texture as I can get; usually with a knife rather than a brush.  There’s just something about carving paint that I enjoy.

I’m looking for photography tips when it comes to my paintings.  Seems there’s always a lighting problem.  Can’t afford special equipment at the moment, and I know there’s google, but maybe you all have some experience I could learn from.


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12:12, 12/12/12

What does the number mean to you?

The 12th day of the 12th month at the age of 12… wish I could, but I’ll never forget.

12 bottles in a case of liqour.

Two 12’s in a case of beer.

12 smokes in half a pack, what a way to start the day.

12 inches in a foot long joint or was it 13; what a way to end it.

Sometimes 12 hours sleep in 12 nights.

12 years after wasn’t enough. Another 12 … almost there.  I think its about right.

What is 12?  Just a number?

Where does your strength come from?

A day?  A number?  A name?  A song?

Something meant to be right but ended up going wrong?

I can feel my skull splitting with an urge, a surging need

To empower you with your own history

To make things all right again.

Just to be me.

 


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Forced words

Forced words never amounted to much

They taste of cud

Regurgitated from some earlier experience

The required no sense of emotion, connection or learning

Merely memory to expose them once again to daylight

You can hear their insincerity like background noise

Impeding the musical experience that is life.

What’s wrong with truth and honesty

Why be so scared of truth and love

You don’t really know either

You’re ignorant and that’s ok

So long as you yearn to learn more

Conquer the fears and allow them to thrust you forward

Into experiences; good, bad, and ugly 😛

For every ten steps back you’ll gain space to leap forward

Be authentic and genuine

Let them know you to the core

You can learn about yourself this way

You can do so much more.

Let the words slip on by

Without analysis, without care

Let them explode from the gunpowder of your love.

Who needs to force words

When there’s already so much to share.

It takes no creativity… only honesty, love, and feeling free to be you.

 


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Taking steps

 

Stringing life together

One lace

Two laces

What’s that got to do with bunny ears?

Things I wanted

I’m starting to take

I’m starting to make

I’m looking forward not back

I did this

And I’ll continue

I’ll take it all and make it all happen

One step at a time

No bunny ears, no rabbit’s foot

Its all me.

But without you, there’d be no reason.


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I woke up today

I woke up today.  Its not that I didn’t expect to or that I’m ungrateful for doing so its just that it happened in a new way.  I wasn’t actually sleeping when this happened either.  Over the past few years, I’ve had moments of revelation; moments when I remembered who I once was over 20 years ago.  I was positive, intelligent, blah blah blah, but most of all, I was creative.  I enjoyed writing in all forms, and painting, and taking pictures, working with play-doh 😛 and the like.  Except for those moments when my creativity would sneak out in a painting or poem, for the rest of my adult life I’d put that part of me up on a shelf out of view and out of reach.

Today, I wake up.  I step past the wall that’s barricaded me inside myself.  I climb up to the hidden shelf where my old life started and was put on hold and take hold of the pen and paper, my paint and brushes and maybe even the crayons and just get on with it.

Pretending to venture in different directions in my life has aided me in leaving a part of my past behind.  Its unfortunate that this part of me got lost in the shuffle, but even without a specific inspiration in mind for tomorrow, I’m so glad to be taking this back.  As for the reason for making this public, well, its not about others liking what I do or not, just about being open to the world again; brave like I once was and maybe even bold should the feeling strike.  I hope to help others wake up too.  There’s nothing spiritual about this.  Its simply about regaining one’s self after being lost for so long. Strangely enough, we all knew who we were at one point and regardless of what took us away from that path, I believe there’s no reason we can’t be that person again.

Welcome to my place in the world.