A snippet inspired by my drive home the other evening.
Sometimes life feels too easy: driving home with a belly just slightly too full with indulgences well after dark and your legs tingle while your feet float away from the pedals. You’re a sliver of waste in a river and in its entirety you become nothing; your doing and undoing go unnoticed and unclaimed. Here, in this vast flow, your end does not make you a martyr, it simply marks that you once were and now are not.
A brief weightlessness, a frightening reprieve from life’s cement yoke which seems always to ride heavy on your shoulders, seems unreal. You don’t feel this way. Life for you is a pulpy affair that clogs and stymies its own flow leaving you little energy to do even the simplest things.
Of a friend’s passing, I wrote:
The evening lulled into me hulking chills and a blanket of deep, grey lead for my heart. An odd sense of disconnection and guilt dusted my synapses as my thoughts stretch through the clouds to pierce the sky as though a flame, gently flicked by turbulent wind, grew from my ear.
I forget to speak to the dead sometimes.
A very bad scan of my drawing in-progress.
Grounded deep in labyrinths of roots with thoughts set free through cracked third eye, the earth-man dallies in tectonic dreams.
My ArtPrize submission was off to a stubborn start so I took a break to make some soap and do a small graphite drawing of a forest-beast-man. I may still go back and add some darker shades with an ebony pencil to give it a little more zest, but at the moment I’ll try my hand at painting again. Wish me luck!