"...the truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To them... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, ...a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create - so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off... They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating'.-Pearl S. Buck

Saturday, January 22, 2011

blood/ water/ stains

i fought once. against the world & everything in it. against those closest to me. ignorant listless dumb fucks. golden. plodding extravagance. whoring themselves. to a make believe world. fucking their money. fucking their gold. fucking their shiny cars. fucking their couture. fucking the machine. writhing & and rubbing themselves to a glistening sheen. fucking me.

fucking me.

but oh how beautiful they were. carbon cut jesters billowing in the wind.
so big.
a slow motion pose. a portion of awe. eat up. was so hungry.
and i took a peek underneath. then. one day. to see what lay beyond. for surely. great jewels of the world are where they come from. lifted their skirt. closed my eyes tight. held my breath.

blood/water/stains.

i understand.
blood/water/stains.
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