Welcome to March!
Terri, Kris, and Kristyn made it here in good time and in one piece - rubber side down, all the way. Glad to have 'em here. It's fun seeing their faces and sharing some good ol' Johnson banter. Trust me, you ain't lived 'til you've been steeped in that stuff for a few hours.
Ah, but wait, that's not all!
...drum roll please...
This is my 100th blog posting! WoooHOOO... tequila shots all around. Truly, it's been my great pleasure to post all these Bits o' Barb. I'm still fairly astounded that you guys show up to read. Thanks for your patience and indulgence while I bare my soul, search the damned thing (and some would say it's damned, but I'll have good company in Hell), and expound on what I find in those dizzying, spelunking dives inward. I know that in the past 100 scribbles, I have, by turns, offended, amused, enthralled, provoked, evoked, placated, riled, tantalized, and probably even bored (I hope not too often).
What started as an attempt to flex some long atrophied writing muscle, has (clearly) become something of a passion for me. I love it. I love the outlet that The Black Ink Pad provides. I love that it makes me think, makes me write (sometimes for writing's sake alone, as I often don't have a clue what I'm going to scribble here until it comes out), makes me reason through things, makes me research. It's been very healing for me to come here. Much more than I can say. It's way better than simply keeping a diary, because of the feedback I get. It's always startling when someone throws my words back at me. "Shit, you actually read that?!"
It's been a helluva ride this past year. You've all, in your own beautifully individual ways, made it infinitely more bearable. I thank you. If I'm a Gypsy, y'all are the campfires; the warm glow that flickers and dances in the dark, as I stare and ponder the mysteries of this fantastic life, this amazing Universe. Really... Thank You X 100... and then sum. (I couldn't resist, sorry.)
he wants to write something down
he wants to sing a song
or paint something
lie down and fade away
or get up and get away
to the beat of the marching feet
in the heat of the prison heat...
all my life
where there`s white
I have words
so I write
what I hear
with no words
it is thin
but it`s clear
it is thin but it's clear
~Jane Siberry, Seven Steps to the Wall