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cblj_backup) wrote2012-04-06 04:54 pm
cblj_backup) wrote2012-04-06 04:54 pm
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Gah, what a week. I am so glad to be home. Not that there's anything I'm really doing at home, but at least I'm here.
Having finished Dead Isle, my writing impulses spiralled way out of control, I have to say. I've spent most of the day re-setting creative boundaries and reining them in. I did get started on re-reading Exquisite though, as a preamble to writing the next bit, and figured as long as I was re-reading it I might as well typeset it, so eventually there will be a PDF and eBook version of Exquisite to date (see: spiralling out of control).
A small but significant downside of my new job is that it's impossible to write porn at work anymore. Still, I suppose it gives me something to do at home.
Actually what I really want to do is either eat bad-for-me food while watching cartoons, or sleep. I wonder if I could justify doing those things if I put them on my to-do list. It would be satisfying to cross them off, anyway....
Having finished Dead Isle, my writing impulses spiralled way out of control, I have to say. I've spent most of the day re-setting creative boundaries and reining them in. I did get started on re-reading Exquisite though, as a preamble to writing the next bit, and figured as long as I was re-reading it I might as well typeset it, so eventually there will be a PDF and eBook version of Exquisite to date (see: spiralling out of control).
A small but significant downside of my new job is that it's impossible to write porn at work anymore. Still, I suppose it gives me something to do at home.
Actually what I really want to do is either eat bad-for-me food while watching cartoons, or sleep. I wonder if I could justify doing those things if I put them on my to-do list. It would be satisfying to cross them off, anyway....
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A Wish
by Christopher Whyte
I'd like to make pictures
instead of poems.
That way
each one would have its tale
of sales and robberies
of rooms where it had hung
of women and dear friends
who got it as a gift.
They would have to be insured
carefully packed and transported
in lorries and in trains
and a hundred years from now
somebody could restore them
because each color would have its own way
of changing and decomposing
just as pebbles and plants
will change the taste and color
of a mountain pool across the centuries.
They would get lost and damaged
stubborn people would refuse to sell them
cracks in the canvas would cause concern
and experts would hunt without success
for the most precious one of all
hanging unknown
in the darkness of a warm
quiet home, where each evening
a woman closed the curtains
and sat long before a lively fire
with a book in her hands.
They would have none
of the tiresome repetitiveness of printing.
They'd only come together
in ephemeral exhibitions
spilling over from room to room
mixing with other painters' paintings
while spectators came and went
or escaped to the café for half an hour.
And when the museum had closed
in the shadows of the echoing rooms
they'd converse secretly
like members of a scattered family
who only rarely come together
for funerals or weddings or christenings.
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I've been meaning to go back and read Exquisite, but I haven't gotten 'round to it yet.
I think after the week you've had, bad-for-you food and cartoons sounds like a wonderful idea. Followed by sleep.
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(Anonymous) 2012-04-08 12:09 am (UTC)(link)I spent yesterday reading Cartographer's Craft for the first time. (Stayed up till 1:00 in the morning to finish, although I had to work this morning.) Well done. Very interesting and satisfying to read an alternate ending to the story.
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