Words for ya.

I burned out on George Strait at 18 years old, got hooked on Red Dirt music a couple years ago. I like the outside kind of scars, the ones that are an off color from my skin. The inside kind aren't as pretty. They don't heal as good either, or fast. My hair is growing slow, but one day it'll be braided clear down my back. I have green eyes whose tear ducts need to open less often. I'm always cold in the winter and burnin up in the summer. Real world struggles yo. I probably cuss too much. I decided that it's a rough world out there and sometimes rough things need to be said. My heart is stitched to the fabric down my arm. I really need to cut those threads and bury it deep in my chest. But I've never been good at holding back I guess. I wonder if you know what I mean sometimes in these ramblings, I wonder if you feel the same vibes. And don't you roll your eyes at me, cause all of the vibrant souls have a little inner hippy, so here's some good energy for ya. There's a lot of pain out there and I keep telling you how tough you are but just cause you're tough doesn't mean you won't hurt. Blisters before calluses remember? And blood before scabs. I'm either too blunt or too vague. My mind is always scrambling, stuck somewhere between spilling my every thought out or choking up and keeping it all in. Trust me, either one is an ordeal. I have a temper that I hope you never experience and when I'm hurting I shut off. There was a time when all I wanted was just to keep up with the boys, now I want to beat 'em with a fence post on occasion but for some reason still love most of them. I have a little white scar below my left eye and one on my lip. I didn't pick up a rope till I was 13 years old, hated roping until I was about 17. I like the feel of creeks on my fingers and moccasins on my feet. I've seen a lot of ugly things. But nobody saw them through my eyes and that's something to cling to. Because there's times when you won't be anything extraordinary, you'll feel far below it. But nobody will ever be able to mimic your vision and that is a little gift from God. I burned out on Nickelback at 17 years old, got hooked on The Outfield about 10 months ago. So there's all that out there, raw and bloody.

Xoxo, Gussie

Fall is coming on.

Can you feel the cold chilling your fingertips and fall wrapping around you?

The way it bites at your cheeks and tangles in your hair.

Can you hear it whispering through the willow trees down by the creek?

And see snow dusting the peaks? 

Like old lovers reuniting, missing each other all summer long. 

Is the cold air stinging your warm lungs, can you feel the change in your heart?

Does it feel like home?

Look at the shaggy coats on the ponies.

They were all slick as seals in the summer heat and their tallow thinning with use.

But they are beefing up for the winter now and getting all sassy in the brisk mornings.

Doesn't it feel so good to have a stingy horse wriggling beneath you?

Winter is coming on and I can feel it in my bones, no more careless jumping off of panels cause that cold feeling has coming shocking up our legs already. 

Are you pulling your wool caps off the rack and smashing your unruly hair down with felt instead of straw? 

Do you have thicker hides of leather wrapping your legs?

I hope you've felt how I have.

When you swing a leg over a frisky colt in cold weather and your gut turns a little.

You look over at your sissy and grin through your chattering teeth and a lipstick smile.

She's doing the same. 

And there's two braids blowing in the frosty breeze. 

Your collars are popped and wild rags knotted around your necks, cotton gloves on your hands holding mecate reins. 

With the wind making your mascara'ed eyes water and your nose and cheeks flushed pink. 

I hope you watch the sunrise between your favorite horse's ears and I hope someday you get him in the bridle and that every ounce of sweat you put into him was worth it to you. 

With your shivering body I hope you warm up trotting out over big country and I want you to feel the ups and downs in the splay of land. 

I hope you feel the conflict in yourself that I have and that you feel a horse coil up beneath you walking on eggshells. 

And by the end of the day I hope he's all sensitive and broke feeling and that you're not sore.

But I hope you're tired, the good exhausted.

Go sit by the fire place and have another cup of coffee. 

I wish that for you. 

Fall is coming on. 

Loves, Gussie Lou

Good Morning Desert

Good morning desert, whisper something to me. Sing a lullaby and tell me your secrets. Or tell me lies and stories that are stowed away in your gullies. Burn me with the sun rising over your mountain tops because to burn is to feel and to feel is to be alive. Every little pinprick of pain like a reminder that I'm sensitive and vulnerable. Rain pounding on my skin, heart on my sleeve. Muddy streams tracing the edges of my boots. Spur rowels whispering low in the morning singing the song we've heard so long. The one that called all of us here in the first place, the one that sings to our souls instead of our ears. Reminding us what we were born for and leading us quiet and strong further away from the world. Because we felt it once, now we crave it. The scenes play out in our dreams, our hearts feel it even then. We're standing with sage and dust around us, a horse between our knees and hearts pounding fiercely from our rib cages. Finally we feel alive, vibrating with energy and emotion. Inside there's a spirit passed down through generations and it's swelling. The goosebumps on our arms, Levi jackets, collars popped. The feeling of chills in the morning and sweat by noon. Tying the new age cowboy to the old, doing the same job with just a few more fences. I look up at dark clouds and let it fold around me. Can you hear the raindrops splattering on my hat brim? It hits loud like a homey tune that quiets the soul and horses snort at quick streams, breathing heavy off the hillside. Long trot in mud and sleep short nights, it's good at being bad for us. All for sanity. I pray you stay busy and your hands stay sore.
Hugs, Gussie

I hope you've felt alive...

I hope you woke up early and drank a hot cup of coffee. I hope you watched the sunrise over whatever landscape plays out in front of you. I dreamed last night that I could only live one year of my life and it dawned on me that the year that I would want to live was this one. I've felt real pain, real love; how it is all gorgeous and jaw dropping, puts butterflies in your stomach and finally just over. I've felt horses ball up beneath my weight and quiver with strength. I've climbed up to heights just to look down and I've laughed when I've fallen. I hope you've felt alive and seen your fingers trembling. I hope you're not afraid. Because it's all so beautiful and so flawless. I hope you crave the sun on your skin and the wind chilling your arms. I hope you know what it's like to feel unpredictable. To know that there is no way of knowing how you feel. Let that sink in because you'll know when you need to. Until then there is plenty of time to just be; and feel. Time will show that letting go isn't what it seems or what it should be. You can't just open your fist and watch the wind carry the pain away on its wings. And your tears, they stay on the surface begging for a memory to let them free fall. But they'll slip off your cheeks and fade and seep back into the earth that they came from. It's hard tho because the heart that throbs deep in your chest is not wise. It gives love to characters not fit for it and your heart strings tie ridiculous knots. Don't worry, you're strong and your spirit is vibrant. Go sit next to a river. I promise you'll love it. Or go lay on a mountain top and breathe deep breathes. The world is not about the pain we feel. It's about the heart we leave in the pieces we touch and the smiles we give to sorrowful souls. It's about the strength we build and the lessons learned. You are strong and you are different but you are not wrong. Remember that. Sometimes you'll make poor choices and sometimes you'll hurt but there's a rainbow after the rain. 

Xoxo, Gussie

Always.

It is entirely likely that I think too much. I've been told that 3 times in the last week alone. Someone explained it to me once like this "It's because you have a beautiful mind that just thinks too much." and she said it giggling. Still though, I can't make it stop. It's like the "wheels on the bus" song... it just keeps going and going and going...and going. Sometimes it's almost painful.
I want to know why the word "always" is so romantic.
And why the rain makes such a pretty song on tin roofs.
I want to know how it is that horses can vibe off you and read your emotions.
Or what about the sky, how does it change all of those colors?
And love, how does that work?
That you just find one person that drives you insane and decide that they are the one you want to wake up next to; the person you want to hold you when you cry.
I don't understand it.
Destiny, fate, or divine intervention?
Why do joints hurt in the morning?
What is it that makes adrenalin so addicting and danger so compelling?
Say what you feel, tell me, what do you want?
Why, why is that so hard for you to say?
I want to know why words can give you chills.
And why it is that one person can make you feel completely terrified and another can calm every nerve in your body.
Why is pain gratifying? Like why does that give a sense of accomplishment?
And why, someone tell me why the word "always" is so romantic?!

Xoxo, Gussie

The story.

I want to be the story instead of the ending.
I love those chilled, high collar jacket mornings when your fingers don't quite work right.
Be honest now, you crave it. How your bones feel old and your spirit young.
Your chattering teethed smiles glinting at a vacant sky.
In a world so open, so blue and green, why don't we feel free?
I guess that's why we stow ourselves away in back country.
Places where our breathe shows gray in the morning and our horses have a hump in their back.
Sage covered hills, cliff rock and aspens all pumping into our veins.
There's a feeling out there, it's something special.
Almost an addiction.
Once you've felt it and the chills that slither down your spine, there is no going back.
Something about it changes what you see in everything else.
Every other aspect of the world is a little bit different now.
It gives weight to the little things.
Like cold air in tight lungs, hot coffee and sweaters covered in horse hair.
We are sunrises and sunsets.
Nothing more.
We are vibrant and gold, amazing and jaw dropping.
But in the end we are just temporary.
Beauty is not hard to find.
Maybe it's just hard to recognize.
Or maybe the word "beauty" is simply overused.
But it's there, look for it.

Xoxo, Gussie 

You got this. Really.

I guess I couldn't do it. It must have been too hard.
I couldn't do it, not even for a thousand diamond rings.
Cause being what I'm not is the hardest damn thing.

You can suppress whatever it is that haunts you but it will do just that; haunt you.
So grab it by it's throat and tear its insides out.
That's the only way you'll get it forever from your here and now.

Then swing a leg over the not so quiet horses and see where they run you off to.
I mean that.
I mean it as much metaphorically as I do literally.

No plan is probably the best plan.
Because what's going to go down isn't your plan anyhow but God's.
So I don't assume there's much use in getting riled up with a schedule in hand.

I'm not telling you what to do.
It's written down as much for myself as anyone else.
I need to read and reread this too.

You don't need to be any one thing.
Be mess of passionate emotions.
The kind that coarse through the pores of everything you touch.

Be achy muscles and cold mornings.
Be someone's hot cup of coffee.
Or a rebel heart, a bohemian soul, a godforsaken gypsy.

Let your hair be wild, let it mirror your spirit.
Be the eyes that are both easy and hard to look into.
Always staring but piercing to meet with.

Don't be scared.
Scratch that.
Be terrified.
And let that shit drive you.
To be strong.
And courageous.

You're good enough; the blood that pulses beneath your skin is red hot and wired.
Spit on the doubts you have in yourself.
Tell them to go straight to hell.

And just roll with it.
Bounce from place to place.
Know when your heart is telling you that you've stayed long enough.

And dammit, love.
Love people and love animals.
And for those who have your back, have theirs too.

Hike till your lungs hurt.
Push your body till its weary and then let it grow stronger.
Be bold in your beliefs.

Speak loud.
Laugh louder.
Be the cackle in the crowd.

The critics are bastards anyway.
So stand with your shoulders square.
Stand with your heart centered.

You got this.
Really.

Xoxo, Gussie