the raindrops, the raindrops, the raindrops

ah, back from seattle, from a lengthy period of festivities and explorations. apparently matches truly does occasion good-natured weather in that city....it is a phenomenon which he cannot fully explain, but also one which he finds no reason to. like so many things in life.

scintillation is spending a day on your own terms, especially when bookended with social ties on both ends (it helps to make the sensations that much more distinct). it is seeing sights genuinely as you view them, naturally, without distraction. it is hearing the sounds that your mind naturally brings the the forefront of the general static and buzz, and not being alerted to anything other than your own experience. it is spending as much or as minute a moment as you want, with whatever it is that captures your precious attention; it is having enough attention of your own to be able to spend it recklessly and with complete abandon to what might normally be expected of you. it is hopping between slick stones on the river of your own consciousness, no recommendations or outside disillusionments required, and falling in with a splash exactly where you were meant to, precisely where your last thoughts had left off. one must become wet all over again to really appreciate the warmth of dryness.

perhaps europe is a trip that would be best left to one's lonesome. is what mattress is perhaps on the cusp of thinking, of admitting to himself.

matches made somewhat of a resolution today, and you may scoff at it if you please but don't rain of his parade recklessly. his resolve was a temporal one, with a certain future point in sight. by the time that last thursdays roll around in the alberta district again (mid-spring), m would verymuch like to have some salable pieces of art of an as-of-yet undetermined nature or medium which he could contribute with all the other streetfarers. if nothing else, it would be enjoyable to give people a piece of yourself in non-conversational form, and hey it wouldn't hurt if it spawned some conversations. unless those conversations turned violent....then it would hurt. but how likely is that to happen? mattress knows that he has what could be considered a disarming personality, when he feels like exercising it. the art does not have to be particularly 'good' in an artistic sense of the word, but he would like it to have some strokes of timeless nature and uniqueness to it...he would like to infuse some care and comtemnplation into it, and see if other personalities can recognize it as such.

additionally, he aims to have not one but two songs of an acoustic nature, which he can reproduce skillfully on guitar, by this same imaginary time-mark. these songs will be written by himself, and if he is not proud of them then certainly they do not count for the purposes of the ambition, or the gamble, or whatever you would find preference to call it. the silliest thing of all is, that while he considers himself a writer above these other artistic pursuits, he does not currently feel like defining a landmark for himself in that capacity....the writing will come when and as it pleases, and that 'when' may be tomorrow; who can say. perhaps his mind will become favorably shaded by stirring it with other mediums, and words will flow like mountain streams after a long thaw. for whatever reason he feels like writing will always be there for him, but if he does not get a jump on these other aspects of his ability to express then they will surely fall woefully to the wayside. how can one willingly limit their spectrum or scope without giving other landscapes an honest effort? there is a certain charm in the convictions of a bold naievete, but he has wandered on both sides of that fence and found one to hold more interesting flora and fauna to his eye. change is a kaeidoscope from which there can be no escape.

expect great things, and chide him, spur him if he is not at first able to produce them. the most magical of spells take decades of devoted studying, long hours put into careful patience, the sort that is required to deal with the delicate forces at play underneath an ordinary understanding. you will see it for what you will...how deep will you look? will you see the surface, and be ignorant of complexity beneath it? will you find mysterious bliss on those waves, or misunderstood malice? or will you engage just as fully as he, and see how he intended for it to be seen? or will your brain complixify deeper than he intended, burrowing into personal theories, forging fathoms into connections that he could not, in his limited saltwater sight, have foreseen? if that...will he have gotten it right still? will he in the first place, on the surface?