A writing from my book "Another Vagabond Lost To love" ♡ // "People keep asking what I do for a living and I keep answering that I don’t believe in making a living. That it’s a concept that has been twisted. I tell them I believe in making a life and money is a distracting object if there’s anything left at the end of the day, and I just want to go on well. Make it through the day. So I smile and raise my glass and they laugh and take my hand, saying “here’s to the youth!” pointing at me. And I might just be youngand naivefor I still believe in the freedom of choiceof how to spend your life.So they toast to the youth, who still thinks she’s free, and that’s all fine by me.

Today was a great writing day and on great writing days nothing can bother me. The way my world feels balanced when I can create something out of nothingness. Wait, let me take it from the beginning:I woke up to a grey sky and I was gloomy and worried, like I often am, and I never sleep very well for I dream of him and them and all the rest and it’s cold at this time of year but still I wake up sweating, heart pounding, chest aching. It’s been a quiet month and my voice is untrained and weakfrom late nights. Cold air and strong drinks.But there are some days that every artist dreams of, when it’s all in the right place and the chords sound right and the melodies grow in the air all around. The words come fast and it doesn’t take much, a few minutes, closed eyes, silent mind – and it’s there.

So some mornings I wake up and things feel wrong but are right and it’s been a silent month for I don’t sing very muchbut this morning I wrote and sang and created somethingfrom nothingnessand it put my very self in balance. My body into being.

Anyway,I wrote my song and took my walk and made my way to the bar to celebrate myself for feeling fine and usually people are quiet there, take my order and let me be. But today I felt fine and not strangeor sadand the town was not busy so the bartender had timeI thinkfor he asked where I was from and what I did herebecause I spoke Englishand not Germanand so that’s that.I said I was just passing by,on my way to somewhere elseand he asked to whereand I said anywhereand he smiledand it was nice.Nice because I was honest, which I rarely am, and he was nice, which people rarely are, and after a few drinks he brought another one“on the house”and sat down and asked what I was writing.So I showed him and he smiledand we talked Bukowski and Woolf, Thoreau against Emerson and it was beautiful.The way the time passed by and chains fell down and I felt okay,which is rare these days,but I didand I still doas I sit on the floor in an empty roomwith friends I’ve met on my way,and they’ve told me to put stuff on the walls and decorate the hall,but I’ve said this isn’t permanent,and neither am I,and if I change fast enough I might be able to write another song soon enough because it’s all in the movement. All in the waves. All in the change.

So anyway,it was a great day and nothing in particular happened. Nothing to make the books or the papers or the headlines,but it was sincere,and I felt okayand that’s rare those days.And it’s moments like these that I know I will be okayfor it will all make sense one daybecause I’m still on my way.I’m going somewhereand that’s the whole point.

I’m still on my way.And that’s the whole point.

(If you see the boy in the bartell him I bought the book he talked aboutand learned the song he sangand that I found my wayhomewherever that is.Tell him he’s got a beautiful mindand a beautiful smileand that’s rare these days.)

We’re all on our ways.And that’s the whole point.