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