Art Class 3/19 and 3/26/17

We started some still life painting with acrylics using only one color (besides black and white), and worked on it over two classes.

I was not terribly stoked about the end result, but I got to a point where I really did not know what else to do with it.

Walking

she worked daily to make him but a smear in her thoughts

when she is drinking iced tea

he appears on the patio sometimes, softened by sunlight and appearing innocuous

when the night air is falling and rippling around her vague intent to conquer and

the Los Angeles concrete is fluid, snaking brightly in the dark

her steps are flight and he is not even a stain on her immediacy

only a crimson shadow in her kingdom of vanity, if he is there at all

but in her sleep

she fears he is the colour of her blood.

Alcohol

chasteness chastity celibacy abstinence virtuous reserved

whore

she caught sight of herself in the mirror, presiding over vomit-laced sinks and

briefly searches for the terrible fish in the reaches of the silver pool but is relieved

the bathroom god is merciful when the time pulses slowly, the air moves like waves

he said you smell like cigarettes and boys, what a primitive existence, base and typical

just as you feared

let me live thin during the nights, if it pleases me

on her thigh she notices a bruise, eggplant-coloured and temporary

an accident like Tuesday and his slate-blue eyes

she hates the thickness of heat and how skins cling in damp numbness

these close textures, constant intrusions remind her

she has resigned herself to chasing her second fall

Irvine

i was getting close

content rolling on the counter at the community pool

fleshy limbs on pleasant concrete sipping a milky mixer scrolling down my phone for people to call

boiling alive in the jacuzzi alongside people who might be my neighbors

i can smell the chlorine on my skin when i move and remember

i came home to pound out old furies

to attempt to chat incoherently with immortal lovers

she’s floating next to me, equally bored, suggesting names of acquaintances to rope into drinking with us

some boy who will undoubtedly grope us before the night is over

some old creep who has children our age

then my father calls and says

she is dead

The Beach

June 27, 2004 sober for 7 days I was lucid and smug

The sand told tales of tan lines, gold and shade taking turns on bodies resting on graininess

In the city with the highest concentration of fake beautiful people second only to Hollywood

Smooth young skins vie for afternoon bronze with books in hand, then dance in the garrulous waves

This is the glory and the glow

Their mothers, ghostly creators, are broken with leather and haunted by crows, purposeless, but

Can find solace in plastic salvation on every corner in this neighborhood

She tells me we are more than halfway dead and I believe her

I cannot help but think our friend who will be a man and a doctor, has more time

A lifeguard angrily shouts to us that no dogs are allowed

Art Class

I have taken classes intermittently (for a few months when I was 10, and then briefly when I was 23), but never learned to draw well, and was excited to get art classes from husband for my birthday. It’s about time for some improvement, since my mother is an art history professor, and my father has been painting for some 3 decades.

Take 1:

Take 2:

Next up, painting.