The dogs are throwing themselves down on the bare floor, rolling their eyes and groaning Lurch-like. Yes, it’s moving time again.
I just popped over from Theme Thursday. And it seems I’ve set a theme and not responded to it. Hoping this will suffice.
Minotaur plate #20 Seeing clouds as a fingery low moving mask of smoke racing through the deluge of watercourse is where images become the skeleton of a nightmare.
Yes, the water came down during the dark time. I hurried out at first light to check damage or if all had been spared. The lilt of the rain forgave some of the walls leaving them dry, soaking the facing walls and smearing chalk beyond recognition - yet, still interesting. Looking deliberate, softening the drawing into morphic shapes with more possibilities than the original state. Is this formed by another? A message shaping up from another pedigree force? Perhaps next rain will work through this smudge to expose an image sharp as arrows.
Let smudge be smudge - just so, I’ll be satisfied with this question, waiting for the chance of an answer.
I’ve lost week to deadline. That's just how it goes.
I dreamed of an old friend last night and got on to memories I have not thunk possibly ever.
Relay in writing, I like that.
In high school art class there was a small yellow and gray streaked glasshouse off to one side that sat out into a small light shaft. It was off-sight of the art teachers so they had no clue to what was happening inside. You had the teachers buffaloed.
But now, thinking about it, that green house was a fishbowl to the cafeteria across the way.
A potters wheel was wedged between short bleachers of plants and supplies. Preferring hand building, I was no good at throwing pots, they said, since the product was always too chunky and not elegant. But that didn’t keep me from trying. I was in the process of making, and a friend was ‘enhancing’. This friend was obviously in need of a something to focus on. He chose one of the still wet deep walled mugs and slowly, oh so carefully carved out niche in the the side and added chips of tiny mud, choosing any array of micro triangular, tubular and spherical pieces. He worked so carefully it was scary, and so close his nose scraped the clay. When he was satisfied, he straighten up, and a with that since of dawning on his face that happens way too inoften, looked at me wide eyed and awestruck. “It’s the universe Imploding.”
Real life rang false.
He carried a doll wrapped in scrap paper in his pocket. His mother sent a note along with him, only just this morning, 39 years ago,
“Excuse him from whatever he wants to be excused from.”
I have been thinking about Escape Speed lately. What it takes, to make us (proverbially and really) get up, out the door, over the comfort threshold and onto our next adventure. Perhaps just out of the way so the door may close... But, Sometimes dramatic. Expelling oneself and forgetting to look back until everything is so very tiny that when you turn for a look-see all has transformed. But of course it was you doing the transformation. Drugs can do this. (I did not say that.) But I will say this about the Escape Velocity..... I’m guilty of using it’s potency in the past. Moving to the coast, to coast, to coast, and then eventually back to the other coast. Sort of pinging in space, never landing for long. I’m sure it took up a bunch of time and energy, but, when I look back on it - a flash. A lot can happen in a jiffy. Sophomoric, I know. But there you have it. Once, and again, the human condition.
“I practice active fleeing in my mind,” I said. He leaned into me and whispered, “I know.” He wasn’t kidding he had known.
DYNAMIC CHANGE; Change that happens positively, immediately, and, is not irreversible.