The letter
September 29, 1984 Dear so and so
Gather me up because I’m lost
Or I’m back where I started from
I’m crawling on the floor Rolling on the ground
I might cry I won’t go home
So here’s the story
I am turning up in circles
And I’m spinning on my knuckles
Don’t forget that there are circles left undone
And very close to me
Forgive me Comfort me
I’m crawling on the floor Rolling on the ground
There’s a blanket wrapped around my head
I’m moving in a line that’s shaped like this
I’m holding in my breath I have a room
Can you tell if I am lying
Don’t forget that I’m living inside
The space where walls and floor meet
There’s a box inside my chest
An animal stuffed with my frustration
Can you hear me?
Don’t forget that I’m alone when you’re away
You make me act like other people do
Forgive me Comfort me You comfort me
You make me die I’m gonna cry I won’t go home
Don’t kill the god of sadness
Just don’t let her get you down
See that man inside that book I read
Can’t handle his own head
So what the hell am I supposed to do?
I’d like to know how he died
My hands are shaking Don’t you love me anymore
I only need a person, keep my shoulders
Stand around lie down
Move your hand above the floor
Gather me up because I’m lost
Or I’m back where I started from
I’m crawling on the ground Rolling on the floor
I’m gonna cry You look for me
Love Kristin, P.S. keep them coming
More…
^ spine-tingling stuff while I was finishing off that painting.
Or at least I think it may be done, only looking in daylight tomorrow will make sure. I have a photo but it’s so near to complete that I may as well wait then post a picture into the "Finished Oil Paintings " album.
Happy new year to those commentators who’ve made such a good start to the year.
Volumetric clouds
High cloud base today– see the picture. That orange cloud is from a coal fired power station eight miles North West. Taken just after sunrise where the sunlight is almost horizontal.
New Year
Happy New Year!
00.39′New Year’s eve
Last day of 40
.Things arriving through the door
November
November
No shadow
No stars
No moon
No care
November
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That’s the color of bone
No prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We’ll slaughter them all
November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November’s cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You’re my firing squad
November
With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare
Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag
Go away you rainsnout
Go away, blow your brains out
November
thanks for reminding me!
Guy fawkes
Guy Fawkes night celebrates the execution of a Catholic bomber and loads of his accomplises. He wasn’t really a terrorist, more of a leader of a coup. He attempted to blow up the government, rather than kill random innocent civilians.
He was sentenced to be hung, drawn and quatered (just in case). Except he jumped off the scaffold just before and broke his neck- dying instantly. You can’t blame him after lengthy torture."Pah!" they said, so they hung/chopped up loads of his co-conspirators.
But that was all in 1605- and we British don’t do that anymore. We imprison terrorists and let them out after a few years. So don’t panic Osama.
Krumpf..krumpf
Micycle 