I’ve got a tattoo on my right thigh that says, : “One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” Complimented with an enzo circle. Back in the day when I used to a so called band geek – further complimented by the fact that I do in fact wear glasses, and was only saved by a slight hand of fate to not end up with braces as well – I used to feel out the notes in my music sheet. Meaning that whenever my teacher called out individuals to play their part, I was lucky to sound out the composition in its proper measurement over half the time due to an intuitive sense of beat that carried me through those years. Because let me tell you, I can’t even name what that beginning swirly is called at the beginning of a line. Yeah, high school was tough.

I don’t think there is a word for what it feels like to be in the midst of a symphony. I played an alto-saxophone, and sometimes, all I felt were the vibrations through my brass instrument to understand that I was making music. It was overwhelming, how your senses are flushed, as all around you are sections doing their part; the flutes by my furthest right corner, trilling and young; the clarinets, my friend playing a sophisticated solo, his sound whirling and lingering above the rest of us. It was amazing really, considering there were 40 of us against the one. On the left were the keyboards and the electric base, which to be honest, I heard almost none of the time when we played together, but its funny how it still adds to the completion of things.Then the drums and the trumpets blasting lascivious belts towards the back, just to wrap it all up. It was practically a crime in the scheme of things, supposing us being a whole composition and all.

There were no words.

My teacher said that simply reading off the music sheets did not mean we played music. He told us that music was not just the sounds made by the exhale of our breathes in combination with a twisted metal…To be fair, when I try to recall right now what was it that he said exactly, I am embarrassed to say that I cannot remember. All I know was that, whenever he would repeat this mantra, it made me feel ever so slightly better about myself, to know that perhaps my way of imperfectly feeling out the tune was what equated to the sort of music he wished to conduct.

I was thinking about this experience when I read back on my two recent posts. This is not a sex blog, if you haven’t figured already from the sardonic Duck painting on the home page advocating something to blast out of your ass. Intuitive right? It just made me rethink the way I can describe to you what sexuality is.

Now there are some talented people out there that know what they’re doing when they’re talking about this sensual subject. And I applaud them heroically to be able to make even the most conservative soul curl up in their seat in anst. It really feels like they may be just as well to put in words the exact origin of an erotic painting or a boudoir photograph.

I’m not one of those people.

I was just thinking to myself this afternoon how to describe to even a friend, what it’s supposed to feel like when you’re in that perfect setting for a romantic encounter. Or more importantly, what is that universal spark we’re all looking for. What’s the big idea with the rapport and the connection, like really, any tangible factor at all would put it somewhat at ease. If for reality’s sake, it’s just called a simple girl’s dream – even then, if it’s so simple, why have I had the hardest time trying to find the words for it.

Then I think about what it felt like to play in my band class. Short lived, but I would sometimes take my mouth off the instrument (no pun intended) to just smile, because all of the otherwise awkwardly composed notes alone could all of a sudden be so beautiful when juxtaposed against each other in synchrony – that was music to me. A constant blend, it came to me like an amorphous blob of vibrant colors. Molten and challenging to the senses, and I was right in the middle of it.

To spare you, that was no metaphor to say I’m in some sort of tranquil love. Far from it, that is just to say, so many things in life, love being one of the most common theme, and my tattoo being relevant without intention, goes to say that we are always searching for the right words. I actually thought the tattoo went towards the complexity of the mother/daughter relationship I have struggled with through the years. The kind that catches your tongue and drives your insane. With more thought, I would actually tell you that’s the one feeling most closely related to this universal topic than any. But that would just ruin it for the most of us, so I won’t say that. Or the fact that I have written and written, and like many authors out there, have yet to come across the most magical thing that was ever put into words. Of course, we keep trying. I mean, I’ve gone to counselors for 6 and a half years of my life. That’s a lot of words, and I have still yet to find the right ones. But when I do, if ever – unless that was the meaning of life, then aren’t we screwed, haha –  they’ll be simple, I’m sure.

We’ll see. You’ll be witness for sure, if this blog doesn’t stop rambling on.