New Journal, partnered writing.
New Journal
This journal is in response to Karl.
So odd, so odd, this, the way things are going.
I came because I couldn't roam anymore. The Dean offered me a place, run of the place, and a herd, and I took it, although I didn't realize that's what it was at the time. All I knew was I wasn't up to taking on the plains and valleys and mountains of life alone anymore, and I couldn't be corralled, tethered, harnessed, yoked.
Think those words, images, would have made an impression on me. Nope. The writer is last to know the words that describe him.
Horse. Ungelded stallion. How fitting those images are, more than dolphin, more than cat, more than dog.
I can't draw this, today. I need to write it.
Karl:
Line from a pen, tracing straight nose, soft at the tip, rounded ever so slightly. Full lips, strong chin, rounded too, warm. Broad brow, deep eyes, color changing as the sky changes, as wind blows wheat and leaves from shade to sun and back. Dark, full eyes, hiding nothing, everything. Beautifully formed, every handspan, skull, legs, hands, made for work, for action, for being. Simplicity that belies complexity: your life like the knife that makes the carving, like the brush that leaves the line behind it.
Viggo:
47 years old. Moderately successful, published poet, photographer. Some acting: some play, some work. One son, one ex-wife, still the female love of my life, more because she didn't tie me than because I ever really knew who she was. Wavering between becoming a mad monk, and a unskilled artist, I came instead to Winston, unwilling to sacrifice sanity and talent to the world's perception of me. Child of a loosely woven home, child of the world, and of nowhere, always moving until now. Many lovers, no mates. Never a herd of my own, always the 'extra' male, protecting the foals, the mares, training the yearlings, racing the colts until they could beat me, fighting the hard ones until they could stand to be part of the group without fear of being left behind if they were not the leaders. Wise, clever, but not quite connected. Now?
Heste. Pferde. Hmm.
This journal is in response to Karl.
So odd, so odd, this, the way things are going.
I came because I couldn't roam anymore. The Dean offered me a place, run of the place, and a herd, and I took it, although I didn't realize that's what it was at the time. All I knew was I wasn't up to taking on the plains and valleys and mountains of life alone anymore, and I couldn't be corralled, tethered, harnessed, yoked.
Think those words, images, would have made an impression on me. Nope. The writer is last to know the words that describe him.
Horse. Ungelded stallion. How fitting those images are, more than dolphin, more than cat, more than dog.
I can't draw this, today. I need to write it.
Karl:
Line from a pen, tracing straight nose, soft at the tip, rounded ever so slightly. Full lips, strong chin, rounded too, warm. Broad brow, deep eyes, color changing as the sky changes, as wind blows wheat and leaves from shade to sun and back. Dark, full eyes, hiding nothing, everything. Beautifully formed, every handspan, skull, legs, hands, made for work, for action, for being. Simplicity that belies complexity: your life like the knife that makes the carving, like the brush that leaves the line behind it.
Viggo:
47 years old. Moderately successful, published poet, photographer. Some acting: some play, some work. One son, one ex-wife, still the female love of my life, more because she didn't tie me than because I ever really knew who she was. Wavering between becoming a mad monk, and a unskilled artist, I came instead to Winston, unwilling to sacrifice sanity and talent to the world's perception of me. Child of a loosely woven home, child of the world, and of nowhere, always moving until now. Many lovers, no mates. Never a herd of my own, always the 'extra' male, protecting the foals, the mares, training the yearlings, racing the colts until they could beat me, fighting the hard ones until they could stand to be part of the group without fear of being left behind if they were not the leaders. Wise, clever, but not quite connected. Now?
Heste. Pferde. Hmm.