Life, one story at a time
This is yet another one of my uhm.. conceptual art kind of mix of language and visuals. Is it a poem? Or is it conceptual art. I don’t know really. I was not satisfied with type fonts I had on my computer.. so after some consideration I decided to make my own instead of trying to find a set that I would like.
It was just one slap.
Didn’t even hurt that much.
Shuddered your walls though.
It was just the one slap
As if to correct an unruly child.
(taking candy without asking!)
One of those e-d-u-c-a-t-i-o-n-a-l ones.
with the certainty of more.
(If you persist, that is.)
But you are no kid no more.
And you don’t take no shite.
Not from anyone.
Not anymore.
Not from your ex.
(His shite you put up with for so long, so very long)
Not from your internet suitors.
(Virtual dating shite, that is.)
And not from him no more,
not anymore.
It was the weakest of pats.
The kind you gave your kids once.
(Long time, long time ago.)
That kind he gave you now.
(Then and now, then and now.)
But you’re no kid no more,
not anymore.
It barely brushed your cheek.
but it iced your soul.
A chilled chilling silence spreading
(to the back seats).
Your children, subdued
“If you are going to be like that,”
he says,
“you better get out!.”
And you do.
For you’re no kid no more,
not anymore.
He is the first man,
and he won’t be the last.
But you won’t take no shite no more,
not anymore,
never no more.
Text from a flash or dash event. Forgot which one.
The steel guides me
to the next station,
And outside the window,
quiet cornfields rush past.
A low sun shines
on green field-hands.
Their plastic shapes
sharp in the light.
Towards my destination,
dark rain fails.
Layers of grey and white,
float in from the sea.
It is suddenly fall
and i see this painting.
And I dream in your of your hand in mine.
And behind those clouds,
the skis blue, so vividly blue
