Monday, December 15, 2008


I have no emotional energy for him right now. He needs something from me. He needs me to keep him moving forward by slow increments. He needs me to put him in the world and he is resisting me at every turn. He wants me to find a time when it will just be him and me in a house at the beach where I can find his voice and I will do this sometime, but I have no time for it now. I get nothing back. I need input. I need to be filled up with all of the emotions that have washed pale in me. I cling to the last little scrap of passion but even this may be taken. I can't read. I long for images. I flick through big thick books with glossy prints but I want the smell of oil paint. I want the taste of linseed oil on my fingers. After this thing called christmas I will clear a small corner of my head for this book, but until then I will paint.


Zen Quill said...

Funny, I was recently reading an article about writers who paint...have a read in between brush strokes, if you get time.

Zen Quill said...

Good vid, too once you get past the pesky 15 second "intel" ad.

Krissy Kneen said...

Just read the article. Very interesting. Thanks for the heads up