November 2002
December 2002
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October 2003
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This is my "mind by Month"..Follow the links below to access the Pollution of the Mind by corresponding months..-is not responsible for any despondance, suicidal tendencies, or unadulterated anger that may come hence from these pages-
November 2002 December 2002 Janurary 2003 Feburary 2003 March 2003 June 2003 August 2003 October 2003 My Current Journal |
Mood: not quite sure actually
Song: Sting "Ghost Story"
Qoute of the Day: "I shall evicerate you in fiction, every last pimple, every last charectar flaw...i was naked for a day, you shall be naked for eternity.."
I sat, painting this night. I don't know why I did, I wasn't feeling overly inspired, (or even somewhat so), but I was experiencing various body pains, and could really do no else. As an unsteady hand applied pigment to the canvas, it almost was as if my pains were mere phantoms, pouring themselves into the picture. Or, as Piccaso once put it, "I leave my body at the door when I work". I had no real rythm or reason as to what I had in mind for my work, in fact, my mind wandered to everything but painting. I became lost in thought, musing over my new kittens, the strange personality of someone from the past, what I would do if I had discovered that, by some freak whimsy of fate, I was Piccaso reincarnated, (which, by the way, is an appaling thought to me, I hate the mans work), ..I became so enrapt with thought, that by all reason, I should have just sat there, pondering, like some autistic couch warmer. However, when reality snapped back into focus, my hand still held the brush, and the brush still moved over the canvas, seemingly of it's own accord.....I knew the painting would never be finished, to finish it would be to rob it of it's soul...but, when it was done enough to accuratley portray....whatever it was trying to portray, I stood, vaguely wondering why my legs were so cramped...only to discover that twelve hours had past since I began. People had buzzed around the house, the Sun had gone down and risen again, with me, in the the middle yet completely unaware of it all. I blinked, my body slowly returning to itself. I streched, and my co-habitants gathered to veiw my work. They raved, and complimented with enthusiasm, and I thanked them. Though, it felt strange. Almost as though I was taking credit for someone else's work. Just like with all my other artworks, it felt as though it created itself. I was merely the channel for which it to flow....but now, I'm going to stare at a wall...and try to feel human.