it's the dreams, the dreams; they weave in and out, they sail in silvery ghost-like form, they nudge me in the deepest dark of the night. and what's it all about, alfie?
the rhubarb was being harvested; looked evil, but apparently was healthy and full of good things.
the white roses had been abandoned in a garage so many years ago, but there they were: blooming and lovely.
the true blue is what i aim for in my heart; the inspiration of zoot's heart, love and generosity; the song i wrote of that name specifically for those dark moments....
but at 3:30 AM last night, my mind was racing with the job of my supposed waking hours: the venues. the costs. the show itself. the negativity recently dropped in my path.
negativity, real or perceived, is of course spread around by people, and they too make their little cameos in my dreams, informing me of my failure to measure up in the way that is expected. sorry, my dear.
but lo, in the dream, i reject them and their superficial success. i say no, it's not what i seek, and no, i am not wrong. image, although tempting, is not the whole package. i don't want to be superimposed on a ready-made scene. i want to dig my own groove, and have others dig the package i create.
wherever the negativity springs from, even if it's created by myself in the fearful depths of my own insecurity, i'll stick with my black rhubarb - nutrition for the body; and white roses - beauty for the soul; i'll turn away from the fear of not appealing, or blooms unseen.
simple black and white. and then, in colour, - the truest blue possible.