2016

It all began cold and wintery, about like it is right now.
I wrote a letter, crumpled it in a tin can and struck a match to burn it down.
I read some old books and lived a vague little surface life.
Anxiously I paced through the crevices of my mind.
My new adventure was dawning and with no time wasted I was packed and moved to a frigid little valley.
Oh I went insane for awhile, took a mental walkabout.
It was exciting really, good for the soul to be a little strung out.
I stumbled sleeplessly through a month of my life, calving 7 to 7's-nights.
It was touch and go for awhile, then I quit the coffee and went on the fight.
One sunny day in May,
I turned my yellow horse out to a snowy pasture blanketing the mountain side.
In waving flowers, beneath a romantic blue sky I took shallow roots to reside.
And there I got ahold of some harder lessons in life.
I dragged my tired ass in and out of bed, worked, played, cried, prayed and bled.
My scattered little mind was lost and found then lost again.
I stumbled upon a couple loves to be lost and still I have no advice to lend.
I taped up rope burns on what should've been feminine hands and buried them deep in denim pockets.
I met a determined set of blue eyes and a fierce set of brown.
We were so dead set on life; there'd be no one could take us down.
Nursed my wounds, lost some weight and lost some sleep.
Learned just how much that I could take, and went rolling in the deep.
For the first time in my life I stood up for myself a time or two.
I spent more than one night staring at the stars, listening to a coyote call and looking for some sort of clue.
I found a bigger smile than I'd ever worn before.
With sore muscles, big dreams and a broke horse beneath me, I could of swore that's what I'd been born for.
Waged war against my own mind and dug a little deeper to see where my breaking point did actually lie.
I lived in a pocket of heaven that God held close in his palm.
He rocked me there as I struggled through the storm.
I rolled my bedroll just as a gypsy would instruct.
I then proceeded to pile my shit into a twenty year old truck.
And now, with a cup of coffee in my hand, I'm telling you my story, my saga of the land.
I ran, I fought, I tried.
And somehow rattling in my bones, I know I'm still chugging on the uphill slope.

Xoxo Gussie

Dear Soul,You Are Courageous

Wyoming was my cotton candy cloud skies. Kissing me goodnight with every glimmer of the moon.  They were telling me to stay free. Thank God I listened. Thank God you said goodbye. Hello dear world now show me all your beautiful creases and crevices. Take me on some wild adventure and let God guide each moccasined footstep I take. Bring me closer to the edge,  let me just peek over for a second and see the beautiful danger. One last kiss on my lips and I guess it's goodbye for today. Run into you sometime on the other side of the world with a bigger dream in my eyes. You were young and wild and free, oh dear that must be why your soul called to me. Look at these scars and beauty marks. Look at these stars. The blue of that sky was just as deep as my mind and I was so glad to find a match as deep as mine. Look how gorgeous and confusing she was. Rivers running between my toes. Keep running dear heart, keep running. There are gorgeous things on this soil covered earth to see and you are one of them! Now one last whiskey drink and a kiss goodnight. Dear soul with your eyes peeled to this screen; you are courageous and brave, strong and yet so amazingly weak, relish in your excellence. Be free. For God's sake be free.

XOXO, Gussie

Good Vibes

I was born with a mischievous grin on my little childish lips and I've always been looking for trouble to get in.
The problem is I find it rather easily.
I hope you do too.
Because trouble is wrong.
And unfortunately, wrong usually tastes good.
So live wild and slow, don't let it all slip too fast.
Take a deep breathe and give long kisses.
Sit on the edge of a lake bed and watch each little wave kiss the shore line.
Promise yourself that someday you'll wiggle your toes in real ocean sand.
Grow your hair out too shaggy and rub oil on your temples.
Maybe get a little hippie.
Be so much you that the weak hearts just can't handle it.
Kill the bad vibes.
Wake up too early just to watch the sun wink at your sleepy eyes.
Listen for the morning birds start to call to their lovers.
Just like it calls to your soul.
You're gonna be alright.
Drink too much,
make a story.
Love too much,
you won't regret it.
Kiss too much,
just cause you can.
Feel every last little emotion,
deep and fierce.
Life's short.
Live it.

XoXo Gussie

Her and Me

Our braids were half shook free and our horses done in.
They looked over us hobbled out while we sprawled across a bedroll in the sun.
She had her arm laid over my back.
I think we were somewhere between sleep deprived and wired red hot.
I rode in behind her.
I've always been my hero's little shadow.
She'd smile and I'd hang on every word she said.
Always hoping to grow up to be half the woman she's been.
I had a calf at the fire grinning through white teeth and chapped lips.
She was all business looking up at me through blue eyes.
I washed sand and grit out of her hair when her hands were all rope burned and taped up.
I've wiped her tears and hung my arms around her little shoulders.
She's been the whispering voice on the other end of my sobbing late night calls.
We were swapping sweaters and stealing necklaces with big cheesing grins.
She was chewing my ass out behind the barn and I took it with gritted teeth.
I had bruises down my arm and tears in my green eyes,
but those didn't hurt me near as bad as they hurt her.
She has more fire in her than the sun and the most tender heart.
We were horseback and laughing louder than the wind with rawed up cheeks.
I had my arm linked in hers following her around, you know, the way little sisters do.
And whether we knew it or not we were always free, her and me.

XoXo, Gussie

Photo Credit: Kay Shrock

Silver Rings and Gasoline

Running on high hopes, caffeine and gasoline.
Hands weighed down by silver rings.
I took matches to what paper trail was left of us.
Us? What us.
Sun bleached hair, guess I'm a blondie once again.
Take it for what it is.
Tanned up skin.
Scars and broken hearts, welcome me into your arms.
New books, old stories.
Woke up early, stayed up late.
I thought I'd have more to say.
So here's a good luck wish and kiss for all the big endeavors you may find.
Dream big.
Fear small.

XoXo, Gussie

"Too wild to last, too rare to die."

I've become an expert in tragic love stories, perhaps I should write a book of my own.
First I would tell about the long kisses and free spirits.
Then about all the places we roamed.
I could go on about how we lived wild and fast; like we'd never know regrets.

I would thank the ones who once held my heart.
Tell them how pretty the stories were that they made for me to write.
I'll say a silent prayer for them and remember the times when we weren't apart.
Funny how dirty the past can bite.

I'd tell you about the one that gave me bruises and the one that gave me a ring.
I could tell you about the wiry ones that had wild and wooly stories to tell.
There was one so fierce, on fire, he all but gave me wings.
And a few that maybe I ought to have told to go to hell.

There were so many horses that danced between our knees.
We were fearless and dumb with only the end story in mind.
Living life like adventure was all we'd ever need.
We wanted to be remembered as some heroic, gypsy kind.

If only the pictures did justice to all the country we saw.
And I wish you could meet all the people we were.
My trusting heart and the late night phone calls.
The big promises, high hopes and ultimate heartbreaking failure.

I'd write about how the most tragic of my love stories is the shortest of them all.
There for a second then gone as hard and fast as the Wyoming wind.
I'd tell you about the bittersweet goodbye.
One last kiss and three silver tears, neither of us could stay in one place long enough to watch them fall.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist.
Dark eyes that smiled into mine.
The day he met me I had dust in my braid.
I guess everything comes in God's time.

I'd tell you all of these stories then remind you I'm just 19.
So this "love" is all new to me.
A beautiful and dangerous thing.
Maybe sometimes no more than a rainy midnight dream.

And finally I would pencil in that Atticus must have known about me when he wrote,
"They were strange in love. Too wild to last, too rare to die."

Xoxo, Gussie

Cowboy Love Story

I tripped, you laughed.
New beginnings, the first hello.
Awkward handshakes, big dark eyes.
Broke horses playing on their checkerboard beneath us. 
My braid all tangled with dust.
Lost loves still dragging on coattails.
Forever clutzy and staring at the clouds.
Long ropes, tarnished bits.
Big dreams and open hearts.
Your smile, my blushing cheeks.
Sun tanned skin, rope burned hands.
Two deep conversations and one long kiss.
Silver rings, horsehair lacing my fingers.
Dust on your face, a ripped shirt sleeve.
Fearless.
You carried a story with you.
I could see it from a mile away.
Reckless memories and fears that stop you in your footprints.
Tell them to me.
First wink, your arms wrapped around me.
Twirl me around. 
Cowboy love story.
Forever lost and forever found. 

XoXo Gussie

I Swear I Lived

I have too much to say and can't get it out fast enough.
Mostly just spitting angry words at the sun.
Life's rough, knives cut.
Fear or be feared.
Bleed or draw blood.
I shouldn't encourage your willingness to cause pain, but damn is it better than feeling it.
Trust me; I know. 
I've got welts on my hands and memories of cigarette kisses in bars.
Stayed up half the night tipsy on Jack.
Felt like hell in the morning with dragon breath and half a name left.
Running reckless and fearless dying to feel something.
I've got a scar below my left eye and an old rope burn across my arm.
Crying old tears, ones that should've spilled years ago but I'm too stubborn to let go.

Let me just tell you a thing or two...and I'm fully aware of how little I know, but still
Here's the thing, I want you to live life really full.
And really free.
I want you to know a real love.
One that comes with good morning kisses and shoulders that are actually there for you to cry on and lips that are yours to kiss.
A love that doesn't ditch you in a metaphorical dark alley with nothing but a cheap dress and wine on your lips.
I want you to have good memories.
I get it. Pain comes, I have the bruises.
But you have the right to own your scars.
You've been bloodied up and choked out, you've been caught in the abyss.
You're still standing though.
Your arms, though they may be weak are still upright bearing the weight of your try.
Your heart is still pounding out of your chest with a loud, earth shattering call.
And look how tough you must be.
The most badass thing you'll ever get to say is "I lived."
I swear I lived full, hard and fierce.
With wind burning my eyes and blood trickling down my cheek. 
I lived.


XoXo, Gussie

P.S.... LIVE!

You're Strong

I won't stand for it.
I don't want to hear you say you can't.
I'm not going to let you lie there in misery.
Get your ass up and if you want it, get it.
No one is standing in your way, and if they are box your way out.
Life's much too short to only dream.
You need to live.
And it may not be smart, it may not be pretty but if it's what you crave, it's what you need.
Don't die without a story.
Don't survive without scars.
Pain is a beautiful thing.
You're strong.
If you want an adventure, create it.
Run free if that's what you need.
Be a child of reckless wanderlust.
Be an architect, be a mechanic.
Be a gypsy.
Be a cowboy.
Just whatever you do, make damn sure your heart is in it.
Xoxo, Gussie

Stay True

Cold, hard hearts wreaking havoc everywhere you turn.
Look up, look around, it's all okay now.
Let me see the light in your eyes.
Then tell me all your secrets, save all your lies.
Shivering fingers and scarred, sunburned skin.
Hoof beats whispering, calling louder the closer they come.
Long strides, big country and tired eyes.
There's a lot of things running through my mind.
Like horses and whisky.
The moon and you.
Tell me a good story.
Burning our pains with good vibes and kisses goodnight.
I hope you don't cry too hard and I hope you keep a soft heart.
I hope you never let anyone break your spirit.
I hope you don't become a slate for others to etch upon the bad habits they learned in a broken home.
Get tough and stay tough.
Be the right kind of beautiful.
The kind with Jesus in your heart and love in your eyes.
You can get weak, it's okay. I've been there and it's ugly.
But stay true, you really can get through it.
I promise you that. I really do promise.

Xoxo, Gussie

Keep Living

There's a thousand things I wish for you and a thousand more I'd tell you.

If you were listening. 

The moon is awfully bright and smiling down on me tonight.

I wonder why our minds work the way they do.

And why our hearts can't fathom logic. 

I pray you don't live a pretty life.

I pray that you dont live a normal life, with the typical milestones and routine.

In the end the ones that never looked good on paper are the most majestic.

I pray that you feel fear and find strength.

And I hope there's a peice of your soul that's never at rest, that's longing for freedom.

I pray that you find a flower child in your veins.

There's few greater gifts than that. 

Keep running.

Keep moving.

Keep hiking.

Keep breathing.

Keep seeing and hearing and feeling.

Keep changing.

I pray you feel love, deep and true and painful. 

The kind that leaves fingerprints on your heart. 

I pray you live a life of reckless, beautiful chaos and learn how to tell your story.

After all, life was meant to be lived.

You weren't meant to merely exist. 

You were meant to live.

Keep living.

XoXo, Gussie

Brave

She was a really lost girl in a really harsh world. A world that wanted her to know who and what she was before she was even sixteen years old. He was in the same boat with her. A world where innocence is robbed and sanity mocked, lives taken and no remorse. And nobody is getting out alive. 

Didn't you say once that you'd be damned if you died without a story to tell? Well here's your story. 

You were born too wild and God forbid your children follow in your footsteps. You have a heart with too much love and a soul with too much wanderlust. You're a little bit gone astray in some ill-advised ways, but Jesus loves you and Jesus saves. You found healing in dark places for the wrongs that'd been done to you. You quietted your demons with louder demons and sometimes it worked. Most of the time not. But you're living. You fought until you were bloody fisted, with your eyes afire and you're going places. There was pain piled on heartaches, and more yet to come but you chose not to walk with fear on your cheeks. You found your passions young, that takes a lot, more than you'd think. And you let the wind carry you like gypsies do. Hold your shoulders square, you're a brave son of a bitch.

Xoxo, Gussie

To The Ones That Came Before Us

Here's to the ones who came before us.
The ones that taught our daddies to rope and ride the rough off rank ones.
Cowboys that saw the West in its raw.
Wearin six-guns in their belts.
Here's to the old boys ridin devious bastards tied hard and fast.
The ones who ran with "The Kid."
Here's to Tom and Bill and their canny knowledge of the horse.
The ones that took a rook under their wing and taught him the ways; the ones that took me in.
Here's to the ones who never thought they were as handy as they could be.
The ones who were always green in their own minds and wisdom hungry.
To the ones who never quit.
The ones that cried and bled and sweat.
Here's to the ones that held a baby's hand toddling to the corrals.
The ones who made careful that their honey's horse was broke.
The ones always lookin out for each other.
Here's to the legends that set the standard for the cowboy.
The legends with soft eyes and gentle spirits.
The ones who gave us a respectable reputation to uphold.
And last of all, here's to the horses.
The buckers, the gentle giants, the snaky souls and the ones who stole and hold our hearts. Here's to the ones who came before us.



Xoxo, Gussie

The Very Best Kind

I've wrote a lot about pain. The words I spilled in black and blue ink like bruises on paper are my way of coping, my way of bleeding out the emotion that would otherwise eat me alive. I told you about that once in an older blog post. I guess somehow I hope it will make me real. 
But I want to remember the good things. I want you to hear the good things, the too cool memories that revisit me in dreams.
I remember the colts, they were cranky and it was a cold winter. The barn was always this musty, dirt-loomed air of a place, so dark. I learned so much. The tack room was old and crowded with gear accented by one broken, wooden chair to the left of the door.
There was this night with a full moon lighting up the desert and a purple sky. Calves were bawling and the horse beneath me was solid and young. We doctored calves under the stars. It's such a simple thing but it was perfect.
I love the exhausted, accomplished feeling at the end of the day. I loved last summer. I spent too much time going too hard out in the sun. The headaches and soreness were more than worth it. I woke up with my body stiff and I dreamed about lead changes and big stops.
Wet saddles blankets make me feel good. I love the smell of horse sweat. I buried my face in yellow mane before I went to bed.
I remember hair in my face and the wind blowing like crazy and it should have been somewhat miserable but I loved it. My hand was warm and all that was left of my poly rope was a greased snake. My arm hurt and I loved it.
I've stood so many times with coffee in my hand looking out the window at horses standing cock-hipped and dozing off. It thrills me in a quiet way.
I like trotting out into a chilly summer morning on broke horses with my sister by my side. I remember just giggling and cracking jokes cause that's what you do when you're at home. And we were at home. Out there in the sagebrush with our sunburned hands, bouncing braids and broke horses; that's become our home.
I hope you have some hella good memories. There's always more to them than you can say, a feeling that follows those thoughts around, cherish that. Those are the very best kind.

-Gussie

You've Got Rights

You've got rights to being a bad bitch.
You've earned those scars and the reputation you have, whether they be good or bad.
You gave up some hard earned salt water on those cheeks of yours and you let that red drip to the ground out of your veins.
You taught yourself to fly on wings with broken feathers.
And you did it with gumption.
You're tough.
Trust me.
I don't make a habit of telling lies.
I've been told far too many to do that to someone else.
So really trust me on this one.
There's a lot to learn when you get beat up.
And when you get hurt, deceived, lied to.
There's a lot to learn about trusting.
And you will trust the wrong person once or thirteen times.
But you're learning how to fight.
You're better than the liars who gave you those gnarly beauty marks you wear.
You're far better than the cowards who had the guts to cross you.
You've got the right to get bloody pissed.
There's gonna be some pretty smiles and they'll screw you over but you're better than that too.
Hold your head up and if it comes down to it, fight dirty.
You've got the right to be a bad bitch.

Xoxo, Gussie

A New Jam

Every once in a while I like to do a love of songs that I love and think you might like to hear.

1. Wicked Twisted Road by Reckless Kelly
2. Wrong's What I Do Best by George Jones
3. Bad Reputation by Mike Ryan
4. Texas Was You by Jason Aldean
5. Guinevere by Eli Young Band
6. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked by Cage The Elephant
7. Angel by Shaggy
8. Could You Be Loved by Bob Marley
9. Elvira by The Oakridge Boys
10. Hurt So Good by John Mellencamp
11. I Lived by One Republic
12. One Call Away by Charlie Puth
13. Parachute by Chris Stapleton
14. She's Like Texas by Josh Abbott Band
15. Your Love by The Outfield

Hopefully there's a few here that are new to ya and now you have some new jams!

XoXo, Gussie 

Rope Burns & Tragic Love Stories

I've been contemplating for the last month or so about buying a url and making this shindig legit.
But I've all but decided against it.

I have nothing to sell, nothing to prove and nothing to preach.
I'm just here in case you need me.
To say that I've been there and felt that shitty, or that high.

I'm just here to get a laugh out of you and maybe sometimes a tear.
To tell you about my love of red dirt music and a couple tragic love stories.

I don't need to tell you who to be, what makeup to wear or what ropes to use.
I'm not trying to get you to use the same splint boots as me or wear your hat in the same crease.

That's not my place, that's all you.

All I'm doing is telling a story and showing off pictures of my gnarly rope burns which isn't really showing off...I really gotta get to the horn faster.

We're just laughing about cheap liquor and drunk kisses. The kind you regret.
Having a laugh about bad judgement and immature choices.

I'm just talking about fire and wind and blood and love.
That's all.

There's no need for me to take this any farther or try to make a business out of talking to you.
I'll try not to screw it up, or take it too far or get too lost.


"Don't be eye candy, be soul food."

And with that, peace out friends.

XOXO, Gussie

Choice

You got hurt, bad. 

You lost some pride. 

You got beat. 

You put yourself in a bad situation. 

It backfired.

And this isn't what you had mapped out in your mind. 

It wasn't supposed to happen like this, end like this or start that way. 

You're a little lost; you and some hope.

But at the end of the day we get to choose who we are.
We can't choose what happens to us, no, but we can damn sure choose who we are.
You don't have to go by what anyone thinks of you.
Can you imagine if we all really were what has been said about us?
So make something good. Have some pride in yourself.
Have a little faith in your gut feeling.
There's too many weak souls out there that just won't hold their heads up.
We've all had one or two knives pressed against our throats at one point or another.
We trusted the wrong person about 3 too many times.
But we get to choose who we are. We get to heal our old wounds and do our best to move on.
That's our choice.
We get to say goodbye.
Don't let anyone tell you any different.
Go kick some ass buttercup.

XoXo, Gussie

Well she said... but she meant...

"She's high maintenance."  "Snot."  "Spoiled much?" 

We've all heard it (and said it) a time or two. There's a little misinterpretation of what cowboy girls say and what she actually means. I just thought I would clarify cause we all know that she's hard to read and nobody could really ever understand her anyhow. But here's a few pointers for ya.

What she says: I want to date somebody who is handier than me.

What we think: Wow a little cocky huh? Don't get a big head there toots...

What she means: I like to rope with the boys and I hold my own alright, but when it gets 'western' I want someone who can save my ass... so it'd be a real plus if he was handier than me. 

What she says: I've rode nice horses my whole life and that's the kind I like. Good colts are fun but the ignorant ones aren't worth my time. 

What we think: So either you can't handle them or you are just no fun. We didn't all get to grow up on expensive, broke horses like you there darlin.

What she means: I've rode lots of nice horses and I put a lotta time into the horses I ride and take pride in how they handle. Project horses are pretty fun but talent grows where potential is. And on a side note, I've spent my fair share of time on shitters. See this scar. And this one. Oh, hey I forgot about that one.

What she says: Don't touch my shit.

What we think: *sudden urge to mess with something then wisely decide not to* Hmmm, a little protective there huh?

What she means: Don't touch my shit. Stop touching my leg. Please for the love, stop undoing my back cinch. Don't take my bridle off. I hate you. If you keep this up I'm going to put ketchup in your coffee. Stop braiding my horses' mane. Don't touch my shit. P.S. This is not flirting Romeo. And no, you can't ride my horse. 

What she says: No thanks.

What we think: Live a little.

What she means: Stop asking me. No thanks. One more look and I am gonna show you the super badass ring on my middle finger. 

Sometimes your yellow horse decides to become a paint.

Xoxo, Gussie