Yours sincerely has, as the observant reader has already noticed, been going downhill as of late. Last Saturday-soon-to-be-Sunday was spent in Total Exhaustment lying down staring at the roof, for reasons mentioned earlier, and Paintstakingly skipped a heartbeat. Yours sinc. renders status quo with this sketch:
I feel like a pianola: Yes, the old self-playing piano with stripes cut in the paper that makes the song, in my case a very pointless one, paint, try to sell, repeat. This basso continuo is affecting my art more than I want to and is something that I also hear echoing throughout the rest of society. Produce so that you may consume, lose the hours of life so that you stay alive. Live long and... despair.
Let us see:
Chandelier, check.
Piano playing The Merry Anthem of Productivity |:repeat ad infinitum:|
The Woodenheads marching. They uphold Our Values and Standards. Unlike me, they never miss a beat as aforesaid Anthem is echoing xylophonically through their heads. Check.
Below, the used and discarded biomass of humanity. Check.
Or whatever interpretation that you want.
November! -- If my dismay for summers that are too hot and hay-feverish wins my bottom ten, Novembers are a good second. Dark, rainy, soggy, disheartening -- did I say dark? -- and dismal on the whole. Even your soul goes damp. So I had no idea for this week until my friendly Muse suggested a candle in the darkness. So here goes.
You see that the light is sort of cogwheeling, and has company -- I'm sort of not done with my thoughts of the previous week yet (if I'll ever be) so a bit of the symbolism there spilled over to this week.
Pins and needles rust and bend, rust and bend... unless they are nice titanium screws, guaranteed to last for a lifetime. The angel in the background (or if it's merely a small one that can dance on the head of a pin, rusty or not -- your choice) bears resemblance to the great Frida Kahlo -- I've had considerably less surgery than her after all (although I believe that Life spared her face, if not the rest -- here, it's the other way around) -- and The Broken Column particularly. It has made a profound impression.
As for the now flightless messenger pigeon (poor dove) yours sinc. suffers from some kind of Sales Fatigue now again (a lot of e-mailing in vain) the main symptoms being Decreased Will to Live as expressed by the body in general (you'll be spared the details). And I try to pull myself together, but mental pins and needles rust and bend.
