elbows weighing heavily on the wooden table
bearing down in the palms of my hands
held captive by
words, thoughts, images, sounds
are the waves crashing against the ancient rock
the ocean, filled with memories of time
is the cello that moans with the wind
quenching my parched heart
I fill my ears with notes of Glass
the tapping of ivory keys
vibrate through my skin
that has been holding a million tears
holding, like some golden treasure
an illusion that I have created
a place that I run to when the world feels foreign
Glass fingers keep tapping
causing my heart to swell, expand, expose itself
music eclipses sorrow
holding and slowing time
allowing my breath to penetrate
my heart to go quiet
allowing myself to feel the rhythm
a continuance of notes
all are the blood that nourishes
my mind and heart
it can be heard everywhere
it can also be seen
as it touches a leaf on a tree
or skips along the water’s surface
the motivation of life
september 12 2017
I did not know that one person could grieve a house but apparently I am. I am not speaking mortar and wood and glass but more the feelings and memories that are lingering. this week and last I saw first hand how money makes some people seem as they have been possessed by evil.
I seem to be raw for all of these things hit me hard. I loose control over myself. I sob while driving. I sit by the water to find comfort but even it does not help. Often my head hurts and my teeth ache from nights of clinching my jaw, unbeknownst to me.
yesterday while waiting the the light to change at an intersection the smell of fat from kfc engulfed the van and took my mind back in time. I could see myself with B in the wheelchair waiting for the light to change and thinking how I was going to get him across two streets before the light went red. I remember what I was thinking and feeling as if I were living it for the first time.
When those times come over us there is no stopping them. They have a force that cannot be moved. I understand the feelings of desperation that leads people to building shrines of their loved ones. We don’t mean to create them into deities. For myself I remember a life so full of creating. To live with a true artist takes a certain kind of person. Watching the Pollack movie again with Ed Harris I understood. I felt the frustrations of Lee his wife and though B was not a drunk and filled with problems it was the creating that draws us to them like flies to light bulbs. It truly is as fascinating as watching a child being born.
Hearing Harris’s description of Pollacks desperation in getting out of him the creation of painting. I have been feeling as he described. Trying and ripping your chest open so it can all come out or be released! I have made attempts but as I look at the paintings now I can see that I have modified them. I have toned down the force and agony that I feel so the works might be better sellable. One has come close and I will post it today. Well I better try and get some work done.
Writing does help.
Painting does help.
Sculpting sure helps
I hope sharing helps you.