How do you sketch on a computer. Those of us without the fancy touch screens and pens that scratch black marks across the virtual interface rather than against a page which can be felt when a mark is too deep, can be felt when the surface has been coated in charcoal or graphite or paint. But with a computer, i can use words, and they can be equally as beautiful, as intricate. The curve of my toe fading off beneath the covers, the angle of light, singular, warm, soft - equally important illuminating the flesh or the trash piled in the corner of the room: recycling and old white crumpled bags paired with faded receipts and an awkward pen or two, dried up from long use, or a long time out of use: either way, abused. The narrow bed, here, with a white cotton blanket which is now a subtle yellow reflected from the walls, and the computer which sits now atop my flannelled lap. Clothes strewn over the laundry basket, but contained in a neat corner of the room, and notebooks and novels in piles on and around and ignoring my bookcase, which yearns for more space and more shelves to hold more piles of ignored books. Sand, yellow, and orange. A rich, dark brown and black and White. Slight accents of blushing pink: a gift bag, a hamper, the long forgotten trashcan. White, and green. Two large exotic house plants. An orchid which terrifies some into nightmares of human-eating fungus, and a peace lily whose flowers are a shield and a mace. Beautiful and white. Broad dark leaves and the tang or dirt. The hummm of far away traffic. The smell of fresh air from the open windows and night and just after a short spring rain, a beeswax candle, forgotten, burning. The red eyes of vampire electronics. Cool blue blinking of a computer hard at work. The blinking cursor, taunting, prompting, patiently waiting.
- Current Mood: calm