I Used to Art, too; or, I Art Some More

December 12 (many years ago)

the simple truth

shine on. with wild imaginings. what do i need? i reach for myself in the end. there can be nothing more or less. such safety in a number. how long does it last? i have no answers. not now. tomorrow maybe. or the next day. or the next. there is peace in here right now. no more tears. just like baby shampoo. the fly in my eye fluttering my lashes. where does it begin? where does it end? can the hours in a day measure my heart strings? the stars won’t fade away. i wear my sleeve on my heart. twiddle dee twiddle dum.
 
I wear my sleeve on my heart. Indeed, nobody likes a cry-baby. Nobody.

Can you stand a cry-baby?

And here I am again, contemplating and generally wasting time. Can art be made like this? I art and art and what do I get? Tragic honeys and old-school grouches. Bah. Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right…
  
August 13 (also many years ago)

bone

actually, i always liked silence.
 
what happened to me? how does anything change? or anyone. sometimes i wonder about where i started being me. i know it was a long time ago. but i liked silence. now i am frightened by it. i need more time to sort myself out. then – maybe – there will be clarity.
 
Does anything change?

Sucker (Has Anything Changed?)

Too much silence can suck the noise out and leave nothing behind. Choices, choices. There are just too many damn choices. None of this is making any sense. I haven’t slept in too long because I am afraid – of the dark, of the quakes, of sleeping.

And now nothing makes any sense. Look what I have done!

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4 responses to “I Used to Art, too; or, I Art Some More

  1. This reminds me of a moment one had quite recently.

  2. The first one, I like. :]

  3. Pingback: I Used to Art, too; or, I Art Some More | Tea Break

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