Freak Fest…

I’m still spinning, catapulting into my world, the last whirlwind trashing all the pretty boxes with their topses on the shelves in my mind. Wheeee….

This year has stunk so far. No, I’m not complaining or being negative. It’s a fact. Period. A stinkin’ fact. It has had some beautiful moments and days and and and. Yes. All the good stuff that makes the heart sing right in there with a ridiculous onslaught of flotsam, jetsam and madness posing some notion of sanity.

Instead of smashing me into a corner I’m finding this ancient fury hurling some revolutionary song from a layer long lost. Time to march, sister. Time to stop ignoring your own lil freak-drum…

“When you speak, sing, write, dance, muse & move to the beat of your invisible freak-drum—impeccably, messily, off-key or on-point —-you grant heroic permission. You crack every ceiling. You strike awe & hit home. You move people to share their own incandescent awesomery.” ~ Alexandra Franzen

Gem found on Rebelle Society, of course. Where else? It shines out, shouting something at my reeling, raw heart. I couldn’t just post it. It evoked. Resonated. Reverberated and highlighted the effect of whirlwinds and spit sins (dunno what those are but it came out of me).

Spit sins. Spit sins are words and words piled up high, towering over a person, leaving this ick sheen behind, a sort of deceitful mess-mass suggesting action but never doing anything actually. In fact, they’re about as useful as spit and that’s a sin since they don’t feed the life of the soul with actual substance and action and.

And.

Spit sins.

We’ll see where next the whirlwind sends…

me.