Moved.

I believe I have officially moved here...


http://littlebarefootchild.com/

Magic.

"So, what do you think?" -Daughter
"He sounds like a nice boy." - Mother
"Sounds like a nice boy. Anything else?" - Daughter
"He has wonderful penmanship." -Mother
"Mother......look at the date on the letter, the date." - Daughter
"Oh, you mean the time thing?"- Mother
"Yes." - Daughter
"That's just a detail." - Mother

Truth.

"Music can save people, but it can’t in the commercial way it’s being used. It’s just too much. It’s pollution."

— Bob Dylan

May and its truths.

The nick-name, "Jessi-Messy", is actually the most accurate nick-name I own. I truly am rather proficient at making messes. However, I am generally just as proficient at cleaning them up. I'm not talking about physical messes like dishes, dirt and laundry. I'm a very clean person.

I am a passionate person, and when I don't have an outlet/voice for that passion, I easily become depressed.

Depression is is my archenemy.

I am obsessed with colours. This photo, by Amanda Moss, 

takes my breath away. Not because of the objects or focus of the photo, but because of the colours.

When a song gets into my soul, it sticks around for quite awhile before I become even remotely tired of it. Currently that song is, "The Modern Leper", by Frightened Rabbit. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because of the way the guys says, "Scottish Rain".

I think I may, "like", someone that i don't want to like. 

I regret having such a large rug covering the hardwood floor in my bedroom. It gets in the way when I'm trying to draw and I'm afraid i'll stain it with my pastels. 

When I feel like I'm running into a brick wall over and over at full speed, I react in outlandish, nonsensical ways which tend to leave behind the aforementioned, "messes". 

My alcohol tolerance has gone way down. 

I'm ready for a new tattoo. 




These are the things May has taught me thus far. 

Patty Griffin - A Sampling

Of Humidity, Honeysuckle, Dylan and Crossing State Lines.

It's humid as hell here, I feel like I should be in India with all this heat and sticky humidity. However, it's difficult to be truly annoyed with the summer weather when the air is thick with the scent of fresh blooming honeysuckle. My love/ hate relationship with summer in the South lives on. 

I've been listening to Dylan almost constantly lately. He seems to fit my varying mood down to each word. 

I've never thought much about how many times I cross the NC/SC state line every week. For some reason, its been bothering me lately. It's almost like a tease. I'm leaving North Carolina, but not really because it's no where new or exciting. I feel like I'm spending tons of money on petrol and wearing my car down simply for traveling to a 9-5 style job. Yes, I enjoy my job but it feels stale. A large part of me just wants to quit everything and go live in the woods as a genuine hobo. 

Perfect Summer mix: Bob Dylan, Joe Purdy, Jakob Dylan, Patty Griffin, Dan Craig, Aaron Espe and Jeffrey Foucault

High of 86°F/30°C today

Southern Summer 

Basking in the summer sun
We seem to have skipped spring again this year
Dreaming of what you would say if you saw me in my blue dress
Wondering if you’d sit with me a while

Dogwood in full bloom overhead
Pollen falling like snow, dusting the ground around me
Birds singing at full volume, filling my heart with childlike wishes
Remembering being young, chasing caterpillars around the backyard

Sweet iced tea sweating from its glass on the blanket beside me
Picturing the swing in grandpa’s yard, how high I would soar
Tree house, built for my uncle, falling down now
Desiring any body of water to bring relief to the heat

Cousins running, screaming, hiding from each other in the dark
Lightening bugs light our path
Girls protest as boys try to capture the mystical creatures in mason jars
Neighbours shouting, threatening to call the cops to quiet us down

Sitting on the back deck watching Nannie dance her blues away
Bluegrass playing loudly, cold miller light in hand
Clogging shoes tap in rhythm as sister joins in
The grill is ready now, throw dinner on, the men are hungry

Father and son pull out the guitars
Familiar melody fills the air
We clap along in perfect timing
This is summer. This is the south.





"Summer comes, yeah, as loud as hope and takes your breath away"

- Iron and Wine