Someone Told Me Once that...

We didn't come here to fit in.
We came here to be who we are.
We didn't come here to work.
We came here to live our dreams.
We didn't come here for the stuff.
We came here to love each other.
We didn't come here by accident.
We each came here with a purpose that is uniquely our own.
Be
Dream
Love
Thrive
Always (semper)!

This is the motto I forgot. I used to sleep on the street for art. In the hopes of being inspired beyond my birth. Now, I sell my soul for a bi-weekly paycheck that covers the comforts, but doesn't touch what is important. Doesn't touch my heart, my soul, my passion. My dreams, they are not for sale. But I in the end they are already sold. When and where is the salvation to break this hold? Jesus is dead, Vishnu is blue so where does that leave me and you?

How to a save the original soul that came to this city? Wide eyed, pure and optimistic even in this political climate. Where did she go? My matinee girl that thought love and fortune lived beyond the next turn of fate's dice. I miss her. I know she's there, but just trapped under something. Something heavy and full of owe. I long to release her, to tell her that her true heart roams free that it should find all it can before the 9 to 5 beats the joy out of her.

Tell me, do you see her? Maybe she passes you on the street full of life and relentless love for what the next day might bring. If you see her, tell her that I miss her and long for her touch. I might wax dramatic but this is life we are talking about and what is more dramatic than the 8 million heart beats that pump in and out of the this city day in and day out? If only the MTA could charge for what comes naturally then we wouldn't worry about the next hike. Our souls would bare the brunt of politics and maybe we'd steal an uptown ride within the 2 hour limit.

What light through yonder window breaks? It is my heart and is there no repose for a wounded soul such as I? Billy didn't plan for me...but just wait. My soul has just begone to cry out and in the end, well if the gods smile I'll be spinning that Tony, wicked, wicked approval. The greatest writers write without regard to approval. Approval is death and my soul will not die at the hands of it. So wait, listen and long for what comes next...it might just change the world.