August 31st. Divorce paintings.

August 31st

This place is called Shangri-La. and it is.. 

Its as if ….

cold winter day. But warming . Fingers chapped from the day before, sighting on the buck through the early light and green. Deciding just to watch.

Cold. alone. But with the universe sparkling around…

Cold danger, iconic men in faded blue jeans and boots.

Pause. Breathe. Repeat breathing… repeat breathing!


Replace scene with empty warehouse . Quick flash of light.

Replace moments of exhilaration and danger and destruction with emptiness and echo, dust and dessication.

That’s what waking up divorced can feel like.


Sometimes it’s fantastic. Many times. Nobody dies. You hear ‘Rappers Delight’ in the background.


Other Times the green calls like Brigadoon and you believe the magic is outside somewhere, and no matter how cool you’ve made the warehouse, it can feel like prison.


August 31st

Its stretching balloons to fit onto feet, pulling them up to cover feet… squeezing, pulling, snapping latex. It’s how you fit yourself into a marriage because you think this must be happy. Or you believe your vows tie you indelibly together.

Blue lines where the latex is too tight. The pointlessness of balloon slippers.

2 thoughts on “August 31st. Divorce paintings.”

Leave me your words! thoughts! sweat, blood, and tears not really needed but okay, if you want... :)

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.