Les 
Slowly you climb your way up a short staircase. Others are on the bus already. Blank faces focused to infinity. A cold rain hits the roof playing a march while the streets reflect the parade. Where you sit seems to come naturally. You aren’t aware of any rules, by instinct you make your way to a seat. With a jerk you start to slowly roll. You can choose when to get off but not where.
I decided yet again to build another studio. The space in the cellar is great but it is at the end of the day still a cellar. The need to have a creative space has become increasingly more important the last few months. A room was available in our tiny house and to use it I had to move literally a ton of books. An old kitchen table was repurposed as a desk and I have to say it is really great. Its wide and deep. It was a lot of work but it was the perfect exercise. Things just make sense.
It is important to note that the first time you do anything you will probably improve upon it in the future. That’s why old timers tell you not to give up because you have to learn the proper way to use a tool before you decide if you need it or not. I watched my Father build a porch when I was a kid. He spent a good couple of weekends constructing something he would tear down and build again a few weeks later. The second porch was really nice. The first one made sure of that.
The new studio has been christened and named Folk Sun. I would like to change MY name to Folk Son. Has a nice ring to it. Almost like a secret agent with a harmonica. Folk art has become interesting to me. Always thought folk art was just tag sale garbage but I think I have changed my mind on it. Something immediate about someone creating something without the worry of it being all that good. Think about it enough and you realize that they probably had later works that were better. You can prove this theory when you find something out of this world that was crafted by nobody. They didn’t even sign their name. Creativity is the holy spirit. Sometimes a human finds a way to craft a glimpse of the unknown. Maybe not the whole universe but a part of one.
The feeling of being in the forest at night. Looking up through the trees at open starry skies. Your nose running and your face is warm from the cold night air. What would that song sound like? Come to find out when you get older those are the only questions worth wondering about. Everything else is just a waste of time. Its not about your job or about politics. God its never about politics. The thing is you have no idea what its all about and you should give attention to those things you can’t explain. I think maybe an explanation might not even be necessary. Maybe the experience is enough. I don’t know. I suppose the ocean is enough.
I bought a bicycle. Like a necromancer I am trying to bring back from the dead something long mustering. The moldy cellar like smell of long lost dreams. The air rushing past my ears is like an old friend. I almost wiped out like two or three times. My legs can barely get me anywhere.
I wouldn’t ride a bike when I was a kid, it took me till I was like seven or eight. Well past where all the other kids were. I don’t even know why. All the other neighborhood kids would try to get me to get me on that thing! I wanted to, but I just couldn’t. Then one night I had a dream. It was one of those flying dreams where you can feel the atoms in your soul. My bike was a chariot and I was molten joy. I got up that morning and ran out the door for the bike and rode it for the rest of the summer. My friends cheered like I was Carl Yastrzemski. I miss that version of the earth.
Things don’t make sense until they do. We can find a seat and mind the ride until we decide to get off. Everybody will find something to dream about when the wind drops their sails. If we fail the first time we try again because why not? Sometimes its not about the destination. Maybe it never is. Maybe it never should be.
Its enough to say I really like the new studio. Its wide and deep.
Swedish meatballs.
Folk Son.
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