Tuesday, May 31, 2016

The Minnesota weather outside this camper is drizzly and gray, but it doesn't feel much different than the weather back in the place I used to call home.
The cherries we planted out under the plastic sheet are blowing in the wind, and accepting the weather as it comes. They don't pray for rain or sun; they merely die or thrive.
I drank cows milk from a mason jar this morning, and the flavor is still in my mouth. Every exhale reminds me of the thick liquid dripping from the glass.
I want my poetry to resemble that experience. Opaque and thick, I want it to fill the containter in your heart, the carafe of your mind. I want it's taste to linger in your senses, not too sweet and far from sour.
The parts of you that I remember best are the extremes. It's more difficult to hold onto the simple moments of life. The facts fade from memory, the words disolve into the fat, and all we're left with are the emotions.
You've made me stronger, and more brave, and completely in love with the world as it presents itself to me. I love the world because your strength is in it. Your beauty is in every tree and the flowers that bloom at my feet. You're the reason the water flows, and my chest will continue to rise and fall.
I believe in me because you believe in me. Understand I have the faith in you that you hold for me. I want you to suceed and plant roots and throw your seeds. Hold your head high, there's no sense in giving up on the glorious.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

Senses and desires

My fingers smell like garlic
As I press them to my mouth and inhale
My mind wanders south
The river I'll be a part of for the next few months
And my maps are splayed out in front of me
But I'm not afraid.
My backpack looks like a cadaver to me
And I slowly open the cavities
Removing polyester intestines
Paper lungs
And it's plastic heart that's still beating
Placed in these drawers they look so foreign
But this pack will not be resting forever.
I want to see every inch of this country
Because with each smile I share
It becomes more beautiful
And maybe I'm changing
It feels so healthy to look at my shedded skin
Though it feels terrifying to get older
I'm still getting wiser
And I'm never growing up.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

You can't always get what you want

A good portion of my journey has been spent re-focusing my mind on things I can control. When I had a steady job, a car, and things filling up a room I called mine, I felt like I was the captian of my days. If I had a strong enough will, things would work out in my best interest. Some days I would whine that things weren't going my way. Something changed my plans, or the weather wasn't what I wanted. "It's okay," I would tell myself, "tomorrow will be better."
Tomorrows never turned out how I wanted. I kept trying to find the control over my mood, and after failing, I would find control in the little things. "Today was hard. I'll go buy myself sushi, and everything will be better", "this week was rough, I'll take a bath and drink wine, and maybe I'll sleep better."
No one could have told me the truth about the lies I was telling myself. Maybe they did, but I turned a deaf ear. If my day isn't controlled by me, what's the point? Why should I keep moving if it's not forward?
"Where is your next stop on this adventure?" I have been asked by so many people. I simply tell them I don't know, I don't travel that way. I don't make plans, because it's not up to me. Seven months ago I would try to control little things about my journey, and when they didn't go my way, I would feel weak. I would want to give up, feeling useless. I had to take a deep breath and see what I needed to, not what I wanted to.
If I was in %100 control of this trip, I wouldn't be in Shreveport, LA. If I was in control, my time in Texas would have been so different. I'm glad I'm a passenger on this journey. I needed to spend a month in Dallas, and in later blogs I'll do my best to explain how perfect Texas is in my eyes. I needed to scrape my knees and love fearlessly and meet a group of people that I thought would only be acquaintances. I was the perfect passenger, and one day, when I want more control, I'll go back. I'll walk the same streets and share drinks with people I'll never forget.
I remember saying I knew there was a lesson to learn in Texas. I wanted the answers to all my questions the first few days I was there. Sometimes it's not about what you're wanting to know, it's about what you need. I wasn't asking the right questions, but I wasn't inncorect to ask them. I also didn't get a lot of answers or new ideas until after a full month under the Texas sun.
I'll never regret going back. I'll never regret meeting every single person on this journey. It's not about the expectations, it's the reality you need.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Teach me

I'm sitting on a shelf in a purple carpeted library. The walls could be a more attractive color, but the patrons aren't here for the world around them. They're here to corner pages and bend spines.
I'm sitting on this shelf, and I'm waiting for a hand to be enticed by my title and golden spiraled font. I don't even need too much of a coax, even a bump of this shelf will send me fumbling to the ground. I'll spill open and you'll blush at the break of silence. As you lean to clean up your accident you'll catch a few words, maybe an illustration, and maybe you'll be interested enough in the brief connection to curiously flip through more.
"Read me, let me fill your imagination with fragrances of loved pages and un-edited passages"
You have the choice to put me back, or hold me for as long as you need. I'm in your hands, but I'm just as free to wander these sections as you are. Every turn fills my eyes with new editions I haven't seen before. Each will have something for me to relate to as I yearn to learn more about the world, the past, and the completely unfathomable. Some of these albums are untouchable, many unreadable, but they all sit in my vision long enough to be contemplated. Where will this take me? How might these words rip me apart and sew me back together? What piece of the trilogy is this, if I fall for this section can find the other novels?
This world is a library. The people can be so seemingly simple on the surface, and we can choose not to read past the title. The essays we catch from reviews and articles can give us opinions on what we might connect with, or be disillusioned by.
We might put the text down for awhile, or go back and re-read it as a comfort. The reader might assume too much and skip a few chapters, or find a mystery they aren't completely involved in. There's always a choice, and it's sometimes easy to look past the unknown stories.
It's so much effort to learn the prose of these new paperbacks, to deal with the plot twists in these stiff-spined volumes. If I put down every work that didn't feel right in my hands, or put away the dissertations with excessive vocabularies that sent my mind into a whirl, I wouldn't have the collection I adore today. Not every story will read like a bestseller, and the romance novels all deserve a chance to become a solid work of non-fiction.
When I open my pages, I can't control if you like what you see. I can't always employ the best artist for the picture I want to portray. I can hope you fall in love with the characters and stories I intertwine with. Personally, I find this story has so much more to attain, terminology to understand, and chapters to begin. I'm excited to feel the compulsion to continue, I have so much more to write, and even more to read.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Hello from this bathtub in Dallas. Hello from the bottom of my heart.
I've found myself overcome with a feeling inbetween remorse and curiosity. I can't tell if it has always been with me, or if it's a place I've found while I have no place.
When people ask, I let them know that yes, I am homeless according so some. Must a traveller have a home? Must being without one be a problem?
I have no home, but I also have many. I've found a home in Dallas, a place I never dreamed I would adore. A place where everyone is beautiful from the inside out. No one feels a stranger to me here.
I've found a home in Ventura, California, where I spent time with a vibrant soul. We bearly knew each other, but we found commonalities over the smell of garlic and red wine. The sense of home I feel when I hear her voice is reminiscent of the hot springs where we met.
I've felt home on the freeways, side streets, and interstates I've driven with brave people who let a stranger in their car. The stories I heard and connections I feel are priceless. I laugh when I realise how short of time we spent together, because 12 hours felt like years in the best way possible.
The home I've felt when I meet a new couchsurf host, see an old friend, or smile at a passerby. What I thought would keep me safe before was solice and cynicism. I thought I had to build my own castle, and hope no one tore it down when I was resting. Now I see the freedom in dropping my tools and only offering a smile. This moat is unneeded, it will only drown me if I fall.
And how I have fallen. I've raised my white flag before and during many battles, but the enemy wasn't in sight. The people I have met along my journey, the chosen family I'll always feel in the northwest, they were all I saw when I wanted to surrender. They could have torn me down and bound my hands. I feared they might shake their heads and rolled their eyes. But instead, there they were, behind me with my colors streaming in the wind. They surrounded me with light and filled me with hope. They offered advice, beds, and stories to learn.
I'll always have this fear that I am always alone. I'll constantly battle with the fact this could all be a dream, and someone will wake me up when I least expect it.
"We are our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves."
I can be my own hero, but I would never be this strong without the warriors behind me. I can be exactly who I need to be in the face of danger. I can build up walls, and I can let people in, and no one has to crumble. We all have our own battles to fight, and I want you to know, you have my loyalty. I will do my best to support you when you need a steady hand, a calm head, or a smile in need of sharing. I will be here for you as you have been for me. We are strong on our own, but we are unstoppable in numbers.
Thank you.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Prose?

The bottom of the peel thins out
As you take one last pull
Of the cigarettes you used to clutch
As he held you behind the ear
Hoping you could send your energy into that empty box
Pushing the love through your fingers
Maybe that spot
On the back of his leg still feels the way it used to
When the bedsheets were foreign and secrets
Well kept behind his eyes
But your lips moved to quick
Honey, you've sank more than a dozen ships
But you don't stop trying
To catch something live
The worm on the end is looking deprived
Synch up your bootstraps
And work harder tomorrow
You can't make it stay
But it feels good to borrow

Sunday, May 15, 2016

In no particular order

"Do you do yoga?" Jim asked. He was handing me a glass of wine, and working on one himself.
"I try, I used to do acro with a friend" I think was my reply. I mostly remember his southern drawl and the smile he gave me. He does yoga a few times a week, bikes around, and goes to crossfit- but I can't remember how often.

He had such a sweet disposition, and was overjoyed when he found out I have not heard every Beatles album. That night he tried to teach me a bass line, but the bottle of wine sloshing around in my blood was hindering for this short term memory I was blessed with. The game of pool we also played was rough, the only shot worth counting from me was the winning 8 ball spinning into the corner pocket. They offered to buy me a drink. I accepted a Roy Rodgers.

"He'll do anything for a Pecan" he chuckled, as Hoppa the Jack Russel quivered with excitement. He had been trying to teach him how to shake hands, a trick Babygirl had figured out easily. She was a mutt with the looks of a Rottweiler, and she would over shadow Hoppa as she performed the trick Jim desired with ease. Hoppa would sit, stand and roll over, but just couldn't understand why Jim was reaching for his leg. He still got the Pecans.

I had met his son previously through Couchsurfing, that's how Jim and I connected. He took me to one of his sons shows at a bar close to Arlington. Jim watching Adam play was one of the most wonderful experiences to be part of. The next day he kept talking about Adam and how talented he was. He smiled as he related him to Paul McCartney, thinking aloud how difficult it is to sing and play an instrument at the same time.

"And how easily he picks up new languages" he said shaking his head, "he just hears it and figures it out. It's incredible."

I decided to show my thanks by cleaning his kitchen. It's almost comforting after having been a house cleaner for two years. Of all the subjects we flowed through, it always came back to The Beatles. He told me why they didn't like Yoko, conspiracy theorists about Paul's death, and went on to talk about the artists after the separation of the band. He asked about my family and we talked about happiness. I think Jim might be one of the most humble people I've ever met.

Friday, May 13, 2016

Art...?

Art is constant. Every city I go, there is something beautiful to see- An alleyway filled with graffiti, fountains in a park, a brightly painted house, the architecture that fills the city.
I struggle with the fact that I identify as an artist- I don't know what my forte is. I'm surrounded by my friends who have an established relationship with art. My best friend is a tattoo artist, and a damn good one at it. She covers people's bodies in absolutely gorgeous ideas and meanings on a daily basis. Another friend draws mostly animals, fantasy or reality, and her work inspires me every day. I have both of these artists work on my body, and only want more.
When it comes to what I use to express myself, I really enjoy painting, collaging, and writing.  Sometimes I'm overtaken when I  go back to read and see myself in a different light.
When I write I put everything I can to express the thought or feeling I'm having at the time. A lot of my deep emotion goes into this blog that you're taking the time to read right now. Keeping up with writing ranges from completely overwhelming, to the easiest thing I could do in the world. Maybe I can make a living off of writing. But maybe I'm not good enough.
I look to many other artisis to give me help and inspiration. Amanda Palmer's the art of asking (on audiobook) has changed the way I look at art. She talks about many things, all of which circle around asking for help, and creating art that feels like she's giving to the world.
What am I giving to the world? Are my words what people need? How can I spread helpfulness and light, even on days that feel hard to me? I have to get through the hard days even when I don't believe in myself or trust my writing enough to portray what I want the world to hear. I hope letting go in these blogs helps someone out there.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog. I know they can sometimes get messy and end differently than they started. Your support (even silent) helps me continue the process. Writing makes me feel better, and knowing it's read helps me feel connected to others.
If you want to hear more about any specific subjects (people, places, depression, the cats I have made friends with) feel free to comment or send me an email at jennise.gaines@gmail.com

Monday, May 9, 2016

Miles to go

Do you know what makes me feel most vulnerable? It's the moments when I realize how much I need people. When I really want them in my life, in my peripheral, against my skin and not just on my mind.
I've always had an easy time falling in love. It's so easy to look at a stranger and want to give them everything I possibly can. It's proved to be a strength and a weakness, and damn it all if it doesn't hurt so bad.
I've met so many people on this journey, and I love every one of them. I can't paint enough pictures and write enough poetry to express the things I would do to give my everything to these lovely souls that have given me so much when I have had so little. All the warm beds and deep conversations and warm plates of food. I look forward to the day I can repay these people. I sometimes wonder if I ever will be able to. If I have any say in it I will. I cant see how though just yet. I cant see the forest, but this tree looks perfect. It's branches are sturdy and the spanish moss moves so calmingly in the breeze. I want to stare forever at this beauty, but I know I must move on. The bark is perfect against my hands, but it's not here for me. It has so many more gazing eyes and wandering hearts to intrigue.

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep
But I have promises to keep"

Monday, May 2, 2016

Send more letters

The word on your postage stamp makes you falter
Not the phrases and well-constructed sentences inside the letter you're sending to the person that you love
That one word in front of the painted flowers
Mountain ranges
The American flag waving in every season's foreground.

It's a word that's thrown around so often, but believed so little
What lasts forever?
Gravestones weather
Diamonds chip
Buildings crumble and freeways sink.

What lasts forever?
The words you said in that white dress you put so much emotional attachment in?
The short words and strong embraces exchanged between your sheets?
The memory of your Grandmother as she said her last goodbye?

"Nothing lasts forever"
She said with a melodic tone
But forever isn't an awfully long time
It's a created amount of time, imagined by the poets
The philosophers
The man on the moon.

Forever is a human concept
An idea in a world that is consistently different
We're changing every day we wake up
Were new people with every dream we vividly enjoy
We are able to be different with each new drug we try.

You aren't the person you were yesterday
Each experience gives you a new version of yourself
Every conversation you let penetrate your train of thought
We're full of fragments from each day we've accepted
We're new and never alone because of every breath we take.