[Mixed Media; Acrylic + Oil Pastel on Wood]

[Through the looking glass;]
peering out of a window
into the grassy knoll
where the children frolic
and the sweet surrender of frivolity
resonates.

It captures them
serenades them,
(if you will)
"come play,
unabashed
until one day,
this sweetness
will become ill-advised.

"Come play,
and let creativity tickle your fingertips,
let adventure tantalize your soul
and join the rest of the world
in frivolity,
because you just don't know
any better."

But,
don't be fooled,
because frivolity is a double edged sword.

We all want to play-
but games are only fun
when there's little
on the line.

Because
when emotions get the best of you
and all you can do
is see your losses:
no gains,
no pleasures;
just pain.

That's when you come to realize
that (maybe) its all

just

not worth it.


-Mon

A new post

Back,

with a new head.


Spring cleaning. Out with the dull life...

One of My Turns

"Day after day, love turns grey
Like the skin of a dying man.
Night after night, we pretend its all right
But I have grown older and
You have grown colder and
Nothing is very much fun any more.
And I can feel one of my turns coming on.
I feel cold as a razor blade,
Tight as a tourniquet,
Dry as a funeral drum."


pitter patter, eh?

-Mon

Because the headlines have been a mess the past few days,

Art is everywhere - and it can be crafted to be seen at first glance; or rather, noticed with enough time passed. So beautiful! So much potential! Now, off to read...

s/love,
Mon

A Plausible Finish

A plausible finish by Charles Bukowski

There ought to be a place to go
When you can't sleep
Or you're tired getting drunk
And the grass doesn't work anymore
And I don't mean to go to
Hash or Cocaine
I mean a place to go
Besides a death that's waiting
And a love that doesn't work
Anymore.

There ought to be a place to go
When you can't sleep
Besides a tv set or a movie
Or a newspaper
Or a novel about a woman
With her clit in her throat.

It's not having that place to go
That creates the people in madhouses
And the suicides.

I suppose what most people do
When there isn't any place to go
Is to go to someplace or something
That hardly satisfies them,
And this ritual tends to sandpaper them,
Into a dullness where they can relax
With out hope.

Those faces you see everyday
On the streets
Were not created entirely without
Thought: Be kind to them:
They have
Escaped.

Where is my mind?

-x-x-x-

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

-ee cummings

-x-x-x-

-x-x-x-

A light breeze, carrying the humid air like a newborn,
cradling it, as if in no time, the newborn will become bearable...
and stop crying tears of heat and muck.

Or maybe that's a little crude...?

Well, crude or not,
it's time for this babe to grow up and become tolerable,
because she's driving me mad.

Only calm when shushed at night,
letting out sighs of perfection,
and smiles of sweet, cool beauty.

Coo, coo?

[Time to be a night owl, perhaps]

................

Also, I sucked at updating my Europe trip, I know. Photos can be seen here: https://picasaweb.google.com/MonicaFinc/

-Mon