I miss the deliciousness of my pen writing words I want to write, not repetitive droning from a needlessly extended criteria that the intended audience will not read unless forced to under duress. I shouldn't waste my lovely green ink on such trivialities, as after a while even I began to loathe the sight of it on the page.
I miss not having the freedom of picking up my chalk pastels and being able to lose myself in the haptic delight of smudging together innumerable colour combinations into something that, despite my meagre skill in drawing, transports me to somewhere where the concept of relaxation actually exists.
I miss feeling ok about doing something leisurely & entertaining & not having to think ahead to how it would impact on my output.
How can I say that I miss my easel that I was given for Christmas, seeing as I have not yet had the time to give it it's maiden voyage in supporting a beautiful white canvas brimming with possibilities?
How can I say that I miss feeling confident & satisfied in my choice of profession, seeing as that has NEVER occurred, nor is likely to, as it is seemingly the reason I am made to miss these things?
Most of all, I miss Magpie Town in all it's entirety! I miss the frequency I used to take to marvel at the elegant words & the thoughts they generate within me. I miss having time to spend time in formulating a fitting response to such apt commentary & insight. I miss feeling challenged & pensive & complete & incomplete & similar & inspired & hopeful on a more reliable basis.
I miss Magpie Town in all it's entirety.
I truly hope the residents are going well, because I miss them.
xo
Take the first step...
Magpie Town has been craptacular of late! A "boo" and a "hiss" to my ailments!
ReplyDeleteI thought to myself: I'll wait until I get better, and then I'll re-engage with the people I love. Then I'll post some more quality.
But I didn't get better. Worse still, I just watched a certain movie about Frida Kahlo in which she doesn't wait for great good health before creating. She paints from her sick bed! It puts me to shame.
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Output is such an ugly word, isn't it? We don't call a delicious meal "culinary output." We don't call a great orgasm "sexual output." We don't call a belly laugh "mirth output."
Incidentally, you know, the first time I heard the word "throughput" I thought I was hearing an insult, as in "shove off you stupid old ugly throughput."
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I can imagine a world full of empty white canvases but I don't know if that's an artist's hell or heaven. You tell me!
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I'll call you tonight. Fuck output. xx martin