Poetry, the imagination, and the creative life.
Okay, that's gonna give me nightmares now.
Agreed. I was just about to go to sleep.And now? Not so much.
lol . . . sorry. A & AJ.
I'm simultaneously disturbed and fascinated. It's an oddly mesmerizing combination, the being disturbed and fascinated.
This is a weird photo. Is it 'real' or just a camera trick (i do realize i sound completely dumb).If real, i'm wondering...2 brains? I see a sort of face on the 2nd head--place for eues, nose, mouth. if 2 brains--both work? is this child going to be like a total genius with 2 brains? I could really use an extra brain right about now...
If the photo is real, I feel sorrow; if the picture is a fake, I still feel sad because I know somebody's heart is breaking for a child, somewhere, who smiles blissfully whilemono-cephaloids regard two eyes; two ears, and two gonads as better than one -- but an extra head is too much baggage for those who still insist that life must be pretty. I'm grateful that my own grotesques reside on the other side of my eyeballs, of which I, normal at least on the outside, still have two, and that my pet gargoyles who constantly rearrange the furniture in my own dark cathedral, do not fly beyond these tunnels into the daylight to frighten children.My conceit as a artist requires me to reconstruct that which I pull apart. Fragmentation is death; it is an uncompleted canvas. It’s a triptych with the middle piece missing.If I were the child with two heads, my soul would scream for the painter’s gesso to blank me out; roll me back, and rethink me to a new beginning. God is an uncritical artist with not enough conceit to demand perfection; an idiot-savant who cannot even appreciate the beauty and the ugliness it creates.So why two heads? While unquestioned conformity is soul-death; involuntary non-conformity is a living horror. Why start life as a witless victim, when one should have their entire life to cultivate their own villains for different occasions; baked in life’s experience in different flavors suited for every passion’s taste. Why have them thrust upon you from the very beginning without a careful screening? ...Like the tax man.Too bad a fetus can't demand an abortion. ~ Bud Evans(Sorry, I do ramble on ... but then, that’s just me. Now about the photo... Well, personally, it‘s to the eye what dog crap is to the shoe. I couldn‘t wait to scrap it off my psyche. I‘m a fussy queen about stuff like that. But, I‘m certain my inner-gargoyles loved it. Thanks for sharing.)PS - I love your poetry. I’d like to ask one to marry me when I grow up someday, tho' I can’t pick just one. Is polygamy ok in that case? Thanks for being you.PS/PS -- Below is the address of the cyber-bar that I usually frequent. My ego occasionally hangs around it when it’s not lying in a puddle of its own Id. Be a pal and call me a taxi sometime when you think I’ve drunk enough of my own mind-numbing metaphors. "Taxi!" "Taxi!"...Cheers! :phttp://rainfish2000.blogspot.com/
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