samara

madness defined.sardonic.pyromaniac..... There is a space in my brain specially reserved for my insanity. It keeps me up at night and makes me say odd things to people. And yet, it is comfortable like a thin blanket during a breezy summer night or warm cup of tea that soothes your mildly-irritated throat. It is a friend that is completely unconditional, sticking with me through thick and thin, staying the night when I have already called it a cab and told it that I have an 8 o'clock the next morning. Sometimes I curse it, asking it why I do the things I do on its behalf, crying to the sky for this dark cloud to pass forever more into the mountains of the past, leaving me alone in the sunny, serene meadow of pure, unmarred thought. But, then I think about all of the fun we have had all of these years. I think about the ups and downs, the dark nights and the beautiful mornings. I think of these things and cannot begin to imagine a life without my insanity, my madness. So, I pack up my insanity, pulling it out of the burlap sack I had almost sent down the river, and walk back home to sit think and talk and muse and live, once again, with my insanity.Ever have one of those days where writing the stream-of-consciousness is just too compelling? This is one of those days. Too much coffee and not enough to do while the paint dries on my most recent paintings..