Mistaken for strangers :: Two-tune Saturday

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Keep Art Alive :: “Lapin Douler” :: Art by Kelly Haigh

You get mistaken for strangers by your own friends,
when you pass them at night under the silvery, silvery citibank lights,
arm and arm in arm and eyes and eyes glazing under.
Oh, you wouldn’t want an angel watching over,
surprise, surprise,
they wouldn’t wanna watch,
another uninnocent,
elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults.”

I think part of me realizes that for years and years, possibly a lifetime, it is me who has mistaken myself for a stranger. People take me for what they want to take me as. The problem with sharing art, of pulling words from my insides and throwing them up for other’s to see, is that all those people make me into what they perceive, and not who I am. I am more than the words I write, and I am more than some dreamed up image of a mate for your soul, or your sex. The complexities of who we all are, well, it makes us all strangers to each other, and more often than not, to ourselves.

Mistaken for Strangers :: The National

Do we fill ourselves with things to become recognizable, defined, a little less strange to everyone around us? Do we even know what it is we fill ourselves with anymore? Is love the ultimate filler that we stuff ourselves with, binging on the pleasure and pain, the heaven and hell, the faith and the infidelity of our hearts, and bodies, and minds? Love is the biggest stranger of all, to me.

I want to know what I am filled with, what I am made of, and what those around me are pieced together with. I want to hear the real story, the one underneath the skin. I want to know my own story, fill myself with song and truths, and keep my heart in tact. I want to understand the confusion and conflict between what lights us up between our legs, and what soars and spins within our hearts, within my own heart.

Love is a Stranger :: Eurythmics

We are all strangers to someone. We are all beloved to someone. We are all filled with so many somethings and someones, yet sometimes, some days, we feel gutted, and empty, and such a stranger. Who do we let really know us at all?

Love is a danger of a different kind, 
to take you away and leave you far behind, 
and love, love, love is a dangerous drug, 
you have to receive it and you still can’t get enough of the stuff.

It’s savage and it’s cruel and it shines like destruction, 
comes in like the flood and it seems like religion, 
it’s noble and it’s brutal,
it distorts and deranges,
and it drenches you up and you’re left like a zombie.”

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Keep Art Alive :: “The Garden of Ceaser” :: Art by Kelly Haigh