Storytelling
06/01/2023
10/23/2022
Arrhythmia
So traumatized Chuck still works the mines.
A poet's soul with hardened arteries.
The company doesn't pay Chuck for his turn of phrase and artist's heart.
It's a tough task to write the perfect stanza when crafted in the arc of a headlamp.
05/18/2021
Treasure the Discarded
I'm exactly what I wished for once upon a starry night. Took decades to notice the contentment staring back at me from the bathroom mirror. Things on my wish list should've remained the same, whether I was 5 or 80. Adult things got in the way to muddy the clarity a child brings to the world. My path has always been the way of the creator. These days find me chronicling peoples’ lives and placing digits on fretboards to find the right sounds to tell their stories. These pursuits are not new, only discarded years ago for whatever the fashion was back then. This invigorated stage of life is a product of recycling. Repurpose my purpose that I described in an essay I wrote when I was five. DATA CHAOS is the name of my b(r)and. If I ever catch my breath, what would I do next? Relying on muscle memory lately as I try to stay out of my head. I usually draw swords when I attempt to traverse the terrain of my brain. Thoughts get roped around one another until reality and reason become untenable.
Make a touchstone every day: capture sounds only fingertips can produce, record a conversation between woodland creatures, create a statement with buttons and glue. Leave something at the end of the day that was not there when the sun began its ascent. Collect enough glimpses into brilliance and one is bound to find a path to truth. We make our own luck by listening to one's soul whisper. Magic never left us, even when we tossed our tools aside and achieved in life the opposite of what we had always dreamed. Clocks don't care when you get around to something, or completely change course and forget all the plans that at one time really mattered. If joy is found in building up and tearing down, rubble suggests a masterpiece in disguise.
Don't think for a minute Darla Varney has vanished into the night. Simply put, Darla is the night. She's also history made and waiting to unfold. Quite literally, Darla is all over the map, and her time piece has struck the wishing hour. But do not fret. Darla's covered her load, obeys all posted speed markers and is ready to pick back up the threads she's been spinning forever. Once you get there (Forever, I mean) try to park as near to the entrance as you can.
10/10/2020
Come To Pass
A certain slant and intensity of light captures the rays of a pink undulating star from within the center of Darla's agate. No need for assembly. Darla's burst of radiance does come with a price, though. Brilliance enters The Change and comes out the other side of the galaxy as a footnote. Darla designs pendants from polished stones and found objects that serve as compass / early warning system at reasonable price points. Everyone likes to rub thumb and index finger over the smooth and yet irregular surface of a much loved talisman as the End of All Things Recognizable approaches.
And about that far-flung footnote straddling a couple undiscovered galaxies:
Darla's arch nemesis is the Vendor Badge Checker. A man with no warmth in his grey-green eyes and a space-invading habit of yanking on lanyards to check one's credential against a list taped to his clipboard. No permit? No permission for Darla to weave her magic upon shoppers with treasures salvaged from forgotten places. Memorabilia forged by tall tales and dirty faces. That boy and girl in the plowed fertile field who just found one of your paperweights. Wait until the camp boss finds it hidden under the straw upon which the girl and boy sleep. Together tightly; limbs give off warmth like one of Darla's Krazy Kwilts. Morning comes in minutes and nothing to break a fast other than what must be dug up, and the camp boss always counts what's been collected in that wicker basket strapped to a narrow, bony back.
04/04/2020
An Official Visual
Our Darla thinks she thinks for herself, but then sometimes she chalks up the talks she has with The Self as the hard-to-shake-off admonishments Ort flings at her every time she tries to express [in words] the really difficult, complex and sometimes icky feelings about [Ort] the world [internal landscape] in which she feels semi at home. But boy is she lucky [Darla often tells herself] that she can walk out her front door, drive off and set up shop wherever [but mostly the Prairie View Drive-In] the mood takes her. And Darla's moods have taken her to some pretty amazing [hellish] places. Like ... Boothby stands alone in his resolve to provide solace [a sturdy foundation] to Darla in her time of need [dirty deeds]. Open air markets are best for shoppers to browse with plenty of elbow room. Although the nearest elbow is hunkered down in a 4th floor studio of a 6 story walk-up, Darla remains available [by appointment only.] Little chance of Darla's determination turning into an endless thread of mishaps. Our girl is the very definition of tenacity! A plan was put in place before Darla was born. Scars carved into her skin are a daily reminder of that, even though what exactly "that" is can only be described as a recurring nightmare [at 11:37 a.m. behind the wheel of her pickup as she's headed to the swap meet] that a nice lady once meticulously transcribed. A father sometimes sees things that make for a rather uncomfortable supper discussion. Structure and rules are being rewritten during this contemplative episode. And aren't groups just so 2019? The inner journey is the logical commute for our time. What good did Dr. Makeda's pages of notes do for the girl disfigured through no fault of all the experts who poked at her wounds? We are entering the next phase of evolution. Darla's travels leave no contrails. Inward, inward does this wayfarer go. What was "out there" anyway? A distorted version of the story she was put here to tell? This is anyone's game. All the rules have changed, and a sneeze will get you a hole between the eyes. Ah, but for those seasoned few, the mystery may not be elusive for long. This is Darla's moment to show what she knows by turning an ill-played hand into gold.
01/12/2020
The Cards We Draw
Darla came up with a magic number so she'd better have the courage to play it. It doesn't matter which end is up when it comes to her cups. A disruption is precisely what the Prairie View Drive-In Swap Meet needs. "Don't create a mess just to say you've accomplished something," Darla admonished Ort a lifetime ago. Inaction can be exactly the action one needs to take when a situation resembles a pile of scraps. "Apply force to an immovable object and you may just end up flat on your back counting the stars, Darla." Mr. Morton Abernathy knows how to stop a girl dead in her tracks. Depending from which side of the veil one hails, a clear intention is more versatile than that ounce of prevention. A weary mind and a body that's succumbed to the cold, or so we've been told. Darla's all discordance and irregularity at the moment; tired and wants to lie down. Wrap a blanky around that body and drift off into a parallel realm. To navigate a world where the head is clear and heart strong. This life is a marathon. What other wonders does Darla keep in her shadow box? An alternate version of her go-to magnolia pattern? Long division in the short term. Progress clouded over with doubt. The greatest riches are found in garbage-strewn ditches. Now that's faith by any measure (with or without a torch.) Under a scrap of midnight velvet she stands. Look up, reach out, use a light hand with the edits. First thoughts are lost through our need to find meaning. Esoteric questions can only receive ham-fisted answers while we reside within this Other World. We can show what we know, but our truth hides in comfort between the moment that's passed and tomorrow. Persist on this road that is built with each footfall. Directions to what's never unfolded before aren't much help as we roll through this intersection. It's the Self, what else? Your magic is your own, to heal or harm. Receive these gifts and pass them to the right. The basket Darla weaves catches the memories contained in each drop of her blood.
12/22/2019
Sui Generis
thirsty tresses teased into unspeakable shapes
frosted-tip stylization
tendrils of sombre ombré
and foreheads banged for business
ladies on high roam from stall to tent in search of the perfect 99 cent:
ladle
cradle
boat
compote
vest
bird nest
a gilded pear
antique lace
underwear
hearth and home and fear of being alone
surround oneself with an elf on a shelf
as knickknacks define our sense of self
11/03/2019
Single-Threaded
Dreaming has returned along this sordid road. Everyone is running toward the right. Stand still to absorb the light. Might I imply that when you look up into the sky, staring back atchya are my beseeching eyes? Have it both ways. Watch your strengths atrophy as you make room in your life for artful distractions. Now there's a talent no one can take away! Such a good opportunity for you to be diffident. Why do you run toward cool indifference? I was willing to be your rusty anchor. There's still time to come away with me to that secluded world of which we once dreamed. There are only loved ones. Walk away from them and you sever the tether that keeps you upright. There is no inspiration like a flickering light on the far side of midnight.
Darla threads distractions like silver beads and creates a glistening ring around her world. The safe and sequestered space that allows Darla's mind to roam and body to serve as camouflage. High above it all Darla surveys her creations. Some spun from mud; others cobbled together with quick words and loose interpretations. A sputtered rebuff is no way to make a deal. Deflection is protection. Smile and peel off some ones when Darla asks if you'd like to see her embroidered disorder.
04/27/2019
I'm Not Listening to a Word You're Saying but Let's Have a Conversation Just the Same
ORT: I am surrounded by carelessness and uncertainty. I can only continue to be on top of my shit and lend a hand as I see fit. I am guilty of prancing about like a peacock, but when I show up each and every time, I will sing a bar or two of my rhymes. False modesty has never looked good on me. Troubles with learning My Lesson? Just how much of a curve are we talkin' here?
DARLA: I always got somethin' to say, that's for sure. My words hit home with lots of folks. I may not have any answers, but ask me a question and I'll give you an Oh, Pinion! If you've got my back, you get a steady stream of bon mots in return.
ORT: This entire journey is built upon temporary steps. Keep taking them regardless where they lead. You've got a fool alongside you; growth is found in the doing and failing rather than the thinking and retreating. Hitting the ground is a sign of momentum. Progression! Standing still is necessary for a time, and then it just becomes hard on the arches.
DARLA: Your words speak of frittering one's gifts and talents. Many of us run from our birthright. It's scary to be a leader among the Weird & Wounded. I shan't be wasteful with my words. My words are my wealth, and people listen to my creativity as though it were the law. It is the law for me. I can only hope my guidance is met with kindness and a healthy dose of beware.
ORT: Ever the diplomat, am I. Strength is what enables one to create in the moment and to drive all other thoughts out to pasture. They'll roam home soon enough. Nurture what makes you happy. Otherwise, why waste the effort? My reward in staying alert is that I always see treasure by the roadside.
03/23/2019
Floating Through Life
Let's discuss this recurring theme of trying on life for size and not clinging to any particular outcome:
"The only approach that's working right now is to show up. Routines are my besties for the time being. It feels like I'm barely lifting a pinky, but I see the tall waves crashing toward me. That ripple in a pond; the butterfly-wings-thing reaching the farthest shore.
I must be the light, all right? So I can navigate in the tight, murky places? I have to release that with which I have no creative relationship. Each moment is a work of art. I can't force outcomes any more than I can tell you to jump on my cloud. Your red wagon ought to be paradise enough."
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