Black Doggerel

I've managed to cripple my fucking right hand somehow. It's not my usual swollen finger joints that I get when I type too much. this time it's the tendon that runs down the back of my thumb into my wrist. typing isn't TOO bad but mousing is near impossible, as is picking anything up. also, right now the shift key feels too much like fucking hard work - my apologies. okay, I went back and edited in most of the caps. too picky for my own good sometimes.

dunno if it was dog-inflicted - they have this way of suddenly pulling hard in opposite directions on-leash that's hell on any wrists and fingers caught in the middle - or if I did it to myself battling imaginary dragonslayers or playing stupid solitaire and slots games online for fake money. either way, I'm pissed off. fucking stupid shoddy meat-thing. shame I voided the warranty and replacement parts are such a bitch to source.

the only good thing about it is it's given me an excuse to continue not attempting to commit art for just a little while longer. now, I have been successfully avoiding the making of art for something like fifteen years - I've even got to the point where if I didn't have two living parents, all traces of my former artcrimes would have been expunged from existence.

but - once an addict, alway an addict. I've been running with the wrong crowd lately. I deluded myself into believing that I could stick to words. maybe I still can, but I'm increasingly conscious lately of my stash of unused paper, brushes, pencils, Fimo and acrylic paint. I'm seeing mind-pictures of the sweep of grey wings over waves, the flash of white teeth in the green, the spray of sand under hooves. I'm getting dangerously near that place where not attempting art hurts more than attempting it. I hate that so much.

my chosen soundtrack sums up the relationship between me and art so well that I need to show it to you. bob dylan is god.

There's a place at the corner of my mouth where I split the skin once; I forget, now, how it first happened. The first crack healed; but scar tissue doesn't have the flexibility of healthy tissue. So every time I open my mouth wide, or eat anything harder than a marshmallow, the fucking thing cracks open and bleeds again.

And I'm damned if I'm going through life eating soft food and pursing my fucking mouth. So today my mouth is bleeding, again.






P.S. Edited to add: Bob Dylan is God.

P.P.S. Edited for the second time to add: Bob Dylan's "Oh Mercy" - I can't tell if it was exactly the right album to come up on the playlist random shuffle right now, or exactly the wrong one. Either way, it broke the floodgates. I first heard it when John bought it for me; I fell in love with it very nearly as instantly and deeply as I had with him. It was the album that had just been released when we went to see him together. It hurts like hell to hear it, but it hurts in the right way; beautiful and cathartic. I think it was what I needed.

Most Of The Time

Everything Is Broken

Where Teardrops Fall

Ring Them Bells


P.P.P.S. I told you, it wasn't you.