Veil
Thursday, September 30th, 2004Thirsty, listening to Kate Bush. Breathing. Feeling strange for hours now. Wishing for a blood red glass of port. Wishing to be tighter. Brighter.
Times like these I feel close to a veil; like I’m pushing up against something that has been passed by, forgotten. Something deep and dusted in years. A dreaming thing.
Pressed now to that, like a face against lace.
An art vibe hummed around me earlier. I layered and altered photos. Got some pretty stuff clicked and selected into being. Put one on my desktop. Lots of reds. The film grain filter was the finishing touch — it gave things a smokey touchable texture. Made it more real. Funny, how obscuring can improve. Mystery and poetry in the unseen. A strange power in that…
Now I am tired (an ever eventual occurrence) and Kate’s art is taking me through vivid, dreaming places.
I am wearing uncustomary jewlery, eyeing a glass sipped nearly dry of water, and wondering at the clock. Sleep is a veil, too.