I am tired of everything,
and tired of the
tired of the waxing
and the waning of the moon
tired of me
tired of responsibility.
I am tired of the cruelty
and the never ending
Of everyone else.
Draft 1 of a piece for my art final.
On the subject of Society, Women, and the concept of Age and Beauty. (SURPRISE SURPRISE? Except not at all)
One of my absolute favourites.
It’s been a while since a piece has made me warm with happiness.
added process shots: painted octopus and a tried to do a little bit of the background.
done. Never is an awfully long time.
At times like this, when I am piled with work with so very little time, so little time that anxiety festers at the pit of my stomach, I have to stop and settle my heart. I think of you. Maybe it is the lateness of the day, or such early a beginning of a new one, the “in between-ness” of it all. I think of you. I listen to slow sad songs and sit under a yellow light and my eye lids are heavy, weighted by the stones of unrest. I think of you. It is unfair to me, it is unfair to you, it is unfair to everyone that I think of you. When I rest my spine and twine my fingers, close my eyes and conjure you in my head. You are a blur. Am I remembering you correctly? There is shame and disappointment that lingers because I didn’t trace every inch of you and you and you. Etch it into my memory, burn your essence into my skin. So that I will never forget. At times like this, the world is quiet, and I can rest my spine and twine my fingers and close my eyes. I think of you. I shouldn’t indulge myself in you. Sometimes I see or hear or taste or feel or smell something that reminds me of you, (mind you not all at once) but the smell of the sea, and the sound of early morning, the feel of warm skin, the taste of mangoes on a warm evening, and of course, the very image of you (however blurred and distorted that image is).
It is now Four Twenty-Five.
In a few hours the world will awaken, but half way across the world it prepares to sleep.
terrible human of the year.