the platitudes of willful resemblance

We are brought to a lazy Sunday. Last night around two-thirty I drugged myself with the idea of unconsciousness – by three am it worked.

In dream the world was melting while I was watching from the side, as a wallflower in an oil painting awash in mineral spirits.

Today, we begin the final phase of painting my sons play room, nee my writing room. This will involve stick figures actual size if actual size were about four and a half tall. This will involve hand prints and foot steps up the wall. This will involve many brushes and five assorted colors all chosen by their individual brilliance which will be handy as they are being hand painted over a code red wall.

I am reminded by this process that I did go to an arts college. Majored in fine art and art history. I can paint and draw. it is just depending on the level of seriousness at which I lose myself and my mental capabilities.

I long for canvass again.

be one with caffeine and cigarettes. Love life love yer wife.

– me.

Stuck outside under an umbrella

it has started to rain, a gradual build up so I don’t know how long I’ll be here.

The computer battery is dying and

the coffee is only hot for so long.

it causes slight pain to my hand to type as I’ve smashed a pinkie finger and I actually type with all ten fingers.

I can’t shut one of them off.

playing piano hurts more.

thus I am unprepared for tomorrows lesson.

my back gets a little wet but the electronics are protected.

the damn chipmunk mocks my efforts from his hole at the side of the house.

mosquitoes feeding and making me feel anemic.

the rain puts the cigarette out.

As where new things happen, old things stop happening.

I got nothing.

a drum set without a spur, a poem without a line or two, a cold cup of coffee, a bathroom light fixture with a blown ballast.

but I’ve slept – yesterday/last night I slept great. this is an abnormal occurrence, an anomaly in an otherwise sleepless life.