draft a contract
spring the trap
lure me with a gemstone
that shines bright
when lies leave her lips
i let it sparkle
i let her think
life is as it should be
all the while
Art & Guile
are welcome company
in the tight confines of
love
Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
recent posts
about
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I've left a deposit in the snow bank. Something for you to draw against when all the things scream to be made. Please don't think what I've buried is your private stash of Taschengeld. If you're hungry I know how to boil water. If there are holes in your stockings, I happen to dabble in socks. Dog booties, too. See? Needs are met without you ever feeling the pinch. But then you must experience some measure of discomfort before you root around in the cold, no? That discomfort is what I pay to see each month. I hope you don't sign your name to just anything. My share must look nice in its frame. -
everyone copies everyone else
can't remember the lines that popped into my head just now
but i'm sure you heard them loud enough to call them your own
save your breath
hold out your hand
someone is bound to click on the link
jump down the hole straight into the vault
get into the Subterfuge Groove
(No Secret: the road is where you learned that trick.)
not all the harmonies need to be so tight
not all the ideas so damn complex
step off the mark
i'm done with my close up
the 3 chord thing is fine
as long as you remember to invite Melody to the party
sometimes one voice sounds the best even if it is a whisper
The universe sings its own tune. -
So here's the latest: Sunny has a hard time getting a good night's sleep. The "recurrings" are a regular thing now and Sunny says she has two scenarios: the dream where she's in the forest and descends a long spiral staircase, and the one in the rundown mansion with the strangers who wander from room to room asking her when dinner will be served. She's always looking for something, whether it's food or the last step. The thick soled hiking boots always show up, too. In fact, Sunny's pretty sure they're actually her feet. She told me she tried to take the waffle stompers off once because they're heavy and hard to walk in. Searing pain and wet-squishy-sucking sounds put an end right quick to any ideas of going barefoot. So Sunny takes the stairs slowly and hopes the houseguests make their own meal arrangements.
She does not look good.
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Dr. Makeda works with younger patients. Kids who are neglected, abused, witness to unspeakable violence. Most of the children have difficulty articulating what they've seen or what has been done to them in their affluent suburban homes or low income high-rises.
Evil doesn't care where it lays its head.
Some of Dr. Makeda's patients simply refuse to speak. Such is the case with Dar. No one knows her name but scars never lie. Jane Doe, or "single-occupant crash victim," or Dar is a girl whose ID is carved into her skin.
This girl is older than Dr. Makeda's other patients. Not really a girl at all, but since she does not speak… Wounds heal slowly.
She laughs in her sleep.
With the children, Dr. Makeda knows crayons work when the tongue does not. The doctor makes a notation in the patient's chart that she can't keep enough red ones on hand. Dar spends hours getting her shades of red just right. What she then goes on to draw is another matter. The pictures, which are quite good and Dr. Makeda makes another note to find nicer art supplies, almost always include a rendering of an empty field studded with posts. The posts are covered and dripping with red, but she knows it isn't paint. A towering white backdrop, like a giant billboard, completes the landscape. Dr. Makeda scrawls on her notepad: Why is the picture within the picture always left blank?
The picture within the picture leaves the patient irritable and distraught. It always comes to this. Art hour is over. Pencils and paper and crayons are put away, and the patient uses a walker to cross the room to take a seat by the window.
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grey puts on purple today
it doesn't want to play the mediator
midweek is more comfortable in black and white
try as i might to look wednesday in the eye
without the distraction of its unavoidable bulge -
There is a reluctance to begin again. A new venture doesn't necessarily equate 'an adventure,' but know that change charges onward with or without our consent. I stand in front of frosted panes and weigh how heavily the rain will fall. The crosshatch from a shredded screen lends perspective to the rolling white infiniteness of possibility. Take the risk? Forgo the unknown? Give chance its big break? It's only sleet on the other side of that window, after all. I've got to keep my head free of fog and my feet unafraid of the freeze. -
Grab a square of dead wood
Use a lot of glue to get a clue to emerge
Look carefully
There's at least one clear idea hidden among the
Shards left behind by idle thoughts and half-formed wishes
If you find it write it down
Pin no hope to a rough edge
One clear idea takes a long time to find its legs
And don't dare call that seedling a dream
You'll only get bored and leave it to rot
On a pile with all the other false starts -
it's all about the work: the word, the note, the emotion, the shade. capture and catalogue. catch and release. the river carries away memory while the sea retains every pain and mistake. it's hard to recall that which never happened at all but an impression was made just the same. such is the beauty of nature. it holds us fast to the spot while our brains strain to jump ahead in the game. but this isn't a game. it's all we got. live life inspired.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 