Who’s _*your*_ therapist today ???
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I think there are few artists as raw, open, unabashedly honest, unashamed, at times gentle, & others rough. She brushes up against you like sandpaper, then gently lulls you with a song of love that stays true to her soul. For her, "Every tool is a weapon if you hold it right". *+She's an Enigma+*. There are countless female artists that I love for as many different reasons as there are artists, but **Ani**, she's my +*guitar goddess*+. I could listen endlessly to her fingers sliding up & down the length of her acoustic’s neck, the music that comes from _*Both*_ her _*Hands*_ & her voice. Mesmerizing. Interspersed with her tales that are at once, devastating & hilarious, her songs wash over me again & again, hauntingly stunning works of truth. Live is the way to truly experience her, to begin to piece together her puzzle as you piece together your own. I was a little late coming to find her, but I remember vividly walking past a room where *_Both Hands_* was playing. Time stopped. I didn't breathe until the song ended. It was my freshman year at college. 1993. Since that day, I've taken countless journeys with her, gained strength & learned how to love without losing sight of myself or my desires. At times that was a hard lesson for me to fully learn. Being a music junkie, there really is no better therapy than my music. I have endless artists to turn to as soon as something hits that I can't fully realize without a little help from my lovers & friends, my "+*RUSHMORE*+":http://mog.com/SatisfiedMind614/blog_post/84045, my music. It changes daily, but today, she's the perfect prescription for today :) Today is a total...h1. girls rule day :)**The Slant**the slanta building settling around memy figure female framed crookedlyin the thresholdof the roomdoor scraping floorboardswith every openingcarving a rough historyof bedroom scenesthe plot hard to followthe text obscuredin the fields of sheetsslowly gathering the stainsof seasons spent lying therered and brownlike leaves fallenthe colors of an eternal cyclefading with thewash cycleand the rinse cycleagain an unfamiliar smelllike my name misspelledor misspokena cycle brokenthe sound of them strongstalking talking about their preylike the way hammer meets nailpounding, they saypounding out the rhythms of attractionlike a woman was a drum like a body was a weaponlike there was something more they wantedthan the journeylike it was owed to themsteel toed they walkand I'm wondering why this fear of menmaybe it's because I'm hungryand like a baby I'm dependent on themto feed meI am a work in progressdressed in the fabric of a world unfoldingoffering me intricte patterns of questionsrhythms that never come cleanand strengths that you still haven't seen.I could fall in love with Jersey at sunset, but I leave the view to the rats & tiptoe back. ~Ani DiFranco
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