I forgot to mention before that some of my art will be displayed in City Hall for a month starting at the end of October. I look forward to the exposure. The art web site is almost ready to go live. The designer is making some requested changes.
I read an interesting book by Epictetus called The Art of Living (the inspiration for the name of one of the recent paintings). I am following up by reading a book on Stoicism, but it is VERY dry and technical. I don't know if I am going to be able to finish it. I gathered enough about the philosophy from Epictetus to be able to write about it, though. It'll be the subject of my next philosophy newsletter.
I'm looking forward to a visit by a friend of D's (well, my friend too) who lives in St. Croix (how lucky is that?) on September 1st. Some more friends are going to visit this Fall, once the weather cools off and the tourons (tourist morons) leave.
I've posted issue 13 of my art newsletter. I've also posted a newsletter "On the Shortness of Life", based on writings from the philosopher Seneca.
I am working on another painting, but I am not happy with it yet. I have learned I can come back to something over and over. It took about 3 tries to get "Steel Wheels" to a point where I liked it enough to walk away.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A new poem:
Grinder
My mind's at it again, won't let me sleep. It's on that train. The locomotive to the land of the agony dwellers.
There is a sawing on the roof in the back of my mind, my head is grinding like sand under the weight of a hammer and the lever to the machine doesn't have an “off” position. All it takes is one word, one phrase, one beat of the drum to send me spinning into nowhere. At least nowhere pleasant.
So, how do you do this, make me shrivel like a slug under the flurry of salt? How do you take the last rise from me? How do you make me fall under the weight of my own consciousness? Because I let you. I let you seep into me like poison. Your vapors, the elixir for the self-righteous. Always the devouring. Never just a bite.
Time does not bring me respite, I can only hope for the forgetting, and words of assurance in the multitude to soothe my teeming brain.
If only I could harness these words, these thoughts, these schemes, I could erect monuments to honor the inventors of time. I could transcend the metaphysical, develop mental concrete. But then what would I do? I might be happy, I might not wait for the other shoe to...come crashing through the ceiling.
For now, it is quiet. For now, the forgetting has arrived. For now, I will savor the look, the life. Until next time...