Midway through the year and I think the last of my David cobwebs are clearing. The loss of a sibling is an experience that does a number on your head, but it's unexpected, because people never talk about it. It's like Ten Little Indians, then there were three, then there were two, and then you start to dread the idea of being the last little Indian standing just a little bit more than you don't want to die. Strange to me that there doesn't seem to be more poetry, writing, and art dedicated to the subject, given that the impact it has is unbelievably profound.
I managed to draw every night last week and some the week before, I wrote a poem a couple of weeks ago, and I'm feel the urge to cut the TV cord, again. My name is Fini and I am a Roku binger.
Creativity seems to have found me again, which is a relief, because the gaping space that is left when the will to create vacates your soul hurts like hell. Another birthday is fast approaching and the need to express myself through words and art is becoming urgent to the point of bursting. Phrases are springing up and rattling around in my head and then the colors and lines in my world are just vibrating and calling me to pick up my pens and paint and let the pigment flow. Funny that I started off with black ink on white paper, but that is my fall back position - my art equivalent of automatic writing.
In honor of being midway to my goal (isn't that where we always are?), my first favorite poem.Halfway down the stairsis a stairwhere i sit.there isn't anyother stairquite likeit.i'm not at the bottom,i'm not at the top;so this is the stairwhereI alwaysstop.Halfway up the stairsIsn't upAnd it isn't down.It isn't in the nursery,It isn't in town.And all sorts of funny thoughtsRun round my head.It isn't reallyAnywhere!It's somewhere elseInstead!