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lantairvleaI want to . . . I want to do something. Something with my art. Something . . .something. Something beyond what I have ever done before. I want to throw things into my art. So much that it strikes and graps. clutches the back of your head and turns it to say "HEY! There's something important to be said here!"
I want to . . . so badly. I want to inspire, I want to create. I want to be able to flood all of the emotions I contain into an image. Something that not only is aesthetically pleasing but carries baggage. I want my drawings to pull carts behind them and chuck the contents thereof at people. I want to be abstract, I want to be realisitc. I want to be so out there that there will be no doubt that it is my own. I want to be able to throw it so far into left field, even right field, that it is seen beyond the masses. This not because I just wanted to be notices and seen, but because I want others to be struck. To have the chance to reach out and touch something, something that isn't quite tangible, yet at the same time it is as real as themselves.
So I sink down, back against the wall. Eyes clentch tightly against the light and darkness that is the outer world. Tears, lovely tears. Fists clentched and pressed against my closed eyes. Hair nothing more than a brown, tangled mess. Tears . . . so many tears. Shudders run though my body and soon I touch the floor, can I get any farther down? yes. I fall to my side, a sharp intake of breath. Mouth forming a silent scream that goes unhear, though is still felt by those who see. Curled up upon the floor, feeling so vulnerable. Anything could just come by and end it all. Sobs, tears, all silent, yet still having their effect, both upon myself and the outside world. Something approaches. Dark footsteps down the hall. What is it? I can hear . . . but I can't see it, I dare not look. Still, it approaches.
My folly is to lift my head, and I do. Eyes opened upon the dirt brown, grass green, and sky blue figure. All of the patterns found on this world, yet none at the same time. A stick is raised, it's end tipped with two claws, claws of some unknown beast. The downward sweep is swift. There is no time to move. Scratching pain. Red hot against my face, another silent scream, I fall. Fall I still do, nothing can stop it. Blood smearing the right side of my face. More tears. Salt mixes in and more pain. The world has left it's mark upon me. Parralel stripes.
Falling, falling. no end. darkness, yet none at all. Light, yet, again, none at all. Will it ever end . . . will it ever END?! Sinking, falling, pulled down. No . . . I shant be pulled. Something must fight. There must be a fight. A call, a sight, something to fight what is pulling. Hand outstreatches, is there any to catch it? Any to have pitty upon my twisting and falling form? Being pulled mercilessly downward into the very depths. The depths that threaten to consume all. Shall I find a hold . . . will I reach out for others. Can I help the others that fall? I don't know. I don't know if I ever will. By, by all that is here, by all that I care for, by all that stands now and ever will . . .
I WILL TRY!
I want to . . . so badly. I want to inspire, I want to create. I want to be able to flood all of the emotions I contain into an image. Something that not only is aesthetically pleasing but carries baggage. I want my drawings to pull carts behind them and chuck the contents thereof at people. I want to be abstract, I want to be realisitc. I want to be so out there that there will be no doubt that it is my own. I want to be able to throw it so far into left field, even right field, that it is seen beyond the masses. This not because I just wanted to be notices and seen, but because I want others to be struck. To have the chance to reach out and touch something, something that isn't quite tangible, yet at the same time it is as real as themselves.
So I sink down, back against the wall. Eyes clentch tightly against the light and darkness that is the outer world. Tears, lovely tears. Fists clentched and pressed against my closed eyes. Hair nothing more than a brown, tangled mess. Tears . . . so many tears. Shudders run though my body and soon I touch the floor, can I get any farther down? yes. I fall to my side, a sharp intake of breath. Mouth forming a silent scream that goes unhear, though is still felt by those who see. Curled up upon the floor, feeling so vulnerable. Anything could just come by and end it all. Sobs, tears, all silent, yet still having their effect, both upon myself and the outside world. Something approaches. Dark footsteps down the hall. What is it? I can hear . . . but I can't see it, I dare not look. Still, it approaches.
My folly is to lift my head, and I do. Eyes opened upon the dirt brown, grass green, and sky blue figure. All of the patterns found on this world, yet none at the same time. A stick is raised, it's end tipped with two claws, claws of some unknown beast. The downward sweep is swift. There is no time to move. Scratching pain. Red hot against my face, another silent scream, I fall. Fall I still do, nothing can stop it. Blood smearing the right side of my face. More tears. Salt mixes in and more pain. The world has left it's mark upon me. Parralel stripes.
Falling, falling. no end. darkness, yet none at all. Light, yet, again, none at all. Will it ever end . . . will it ever END?! Sinking, falling, pulled down. No . . . I shant be pulled. Something must fight. There must be a fight. A call, a sight, something to fight what is pulling. Hand outstreatches, is there any to catch it? Any to have pitty upon my twisting and falling form? Being pulled mercilessly downward into the very depths. The depths that threaten to consume all. Shall I find a hold . . . will I reach out for others. Can I help the others that fall? I don't know. I don't know if I ever will. By, by all that is here, by all that I care for, by all that stands now and ever will . . .
