Flare

I find peace with those who are blazing with all their soul to do something, anything meaningful and worthwhile -- who fight this consuming apathy and tired indecision, climbing out of the mud and muck we buried ourselves in long ago, to thrust upward with coruscating truth, art, and life.

I love traveling, thinking, Bob Dylan's music, sprinting, fine arts, and a handful of friends. Everything else I don't really give a shit about, but I pretend from time to time, with transient, outright passion (currently ballroom dance and lindy hop).

I see myself as quick, intellectually restless, fiercely independent, polite with strangers, creative in small doses, a wit, calm with loud or intense people, self-starting, honest, and a leader when cornered.

I go through cycles of brilliance and burnout. If one were to graph it, it wouldn't be a sine wave, that's for sure.

One of the few things we learn growing up is that most people are scared. They're scared to stand up and speak, afraid of what they are, what they think. And, when you realize that, that everyone in the room is afraid of you, it quickly becomes apparent who is courageous, who are your friends and companions. Their eyes calmly meet yours, holding, locking without effort, laughing silently, cordially.

Our best friends are creators -- authors of literature and philosophy, musicians, farmers, engineers and painters. Bob, Albert, Tori, Claude; they share what they see with us, while we are at rest but not at rest. Some of these friends we hardly know, but we keep in touch in our thoughts, in our lives.

We all have our way of showing it, that we're different, that we're alive. The details, frankly, are unimportant, though it's easy to forget, with our tea and This American Life, indigo hair and smoke, favourite pen and fake British accent; we can be someone else, somewhere else, tomorrow, still with our flashing wit and eyes that betray our secret.

I'm here to say hi to you, you who can't stop traveling, can't stop reading, learning, seeing the hilarity and opportunity of our lives. You know you're brilliant, you know you can see. You know there are no excuses, only choices and time.

You know everyone is like us, though they're not here, just yet; they're waiting for something, someone. And so we're kind to strangers, honest with the thieves. We see the killers, and they are men; they are children, they are our parents, our past, our present, our brothers, overseas and next door. And so we tell them the truth. And so we must create. And though we will die, with all our wit, passion and courage splattered on the mud, it will be without regret, and our children will tell stories, stories, and that will be enough.

Ok. Go. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!