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March 17, 2006
Bastard Urges
Why do this drawing and painting lark?
It’s like an itch that can’t be scratched.
I get this passion,
This urge,
Call it what you like.
It can have me hopping
From one foot to another.
Welling up inside me,
Incontainable.
I have to get it out,
To express it.
Whatever it is.
I don’t know.
Sometimes I can’t
Just can’t.
And I get angry
Immensely angry
Frighteningly angry.
I try to assuage my feelings.
Huge feelings which seem
Interminable,
Insatiable.
It’s not that they’re wrong.
It’s not the law that prevents me.
It’s my inability to focus on them.
My inability to isolate them,
To name them,
To label them,
To categorise them
and file them away
for good
closed
done with
done and dusted
shut the drawer
turn the light out
lock the door.
But they are intangible.
I can’t get a grasp of them.
They’re transient
Fleeting
Primitive
Primordial
Bastard urges.
So I grit my teeth
And keep on going.
Posted by john at March 17, 2006 11:47 AM