Spring Sessions III 50 x 70 cm acrylic/spraypaint on paper |
BLACK RAIN (PERSEPHONE)
Black rain drilling
little holes
clean
through self-esteem on this
totally
fucked January twilit
day making
us feel at least
50 % dumber
and uglier than we
do in
summer. Half the world is online, the
other half
dreaming of the right content—
it might be
naked wet bodies smacking
into each
other, or tea ceremony demo
by a
Japanese monk. Lady de Winter
offers you
a toxic joint. You refuse but
sadly, with
reluctance, a touch resentful
of your own
rejection of reckless liberty. Has courage
shriveled up
and crawled back to its itsy-bitsy cubicle
or is sound
judgement making a half-assed comeback?
And how
much of this means anything
or fits in
the plan as such? There is
one crucial
indisputable but subliminal
suspicion: that
no one, anywhere, at anytime
gives a
damn if Earth’s daughter returns or not.
It’s as if my
physician, shaking his head, says
I have great
news for you, Kenneth, but I couldn’t care less.