Memories from around the time I read Free Play

Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art

Free Play was a subway book, and I did a lot of riding on the subway. I can see the florescent light of the train, feel it encasing me, getting close to my skin like disease. The sound of metal screeching on the tracks, kids walking between the cars opening and closing the doors. My body moving with the flow and pitch of the train. My reflection on the plexiglass window across the car.

Open the book. I could take the words and let them settle around me like a shield.

I was 23 or 24 years-old. Reading in earnest. I remember reading like it was the key to unlocking my hidden potential for creativity, for understanding the universe, for love. I dreamed of writing brilliant songs, writing books, painting masterpieces, and being loved by my boyfriend. I saw myself in the ether with music and poetry; free flow like liquid, like mist.

I was so young.

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I'm a rock-n-roller poet who left the Big Apple for the Big Sky Desert where I've been letting it be and grooving with universal love, singing to the gods, dancing with the muses and bicycling with dreamtime messengers. I like altering my reality through imagination, movement, breath, and makin' stuff.

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