I'll Leave This 👆 Here... You Decide 🤔

While the woman and her outfit are the loci of the frame, I'm more intrigued by the cotton ball floofy table to her right... what is going on with that? And who thought that was a good idea?

femmeblk

I love that this art lover chronicles art history, thusly sharing her or his knowledge and appreciation of art, artists, and the varying degrees of nuance, subtlety and life that art and its creators breathe in to the world. And the anecdotal send-up for this entry made me smile because it let me know that this contributor has passion for art and deliberately (and adroitly, I might add) sought out little known information about Hopper's benchmark masterpiece. Well done!

(So says a ridiculous artist and kook named Wes ...as well as a thousand other names...)

June 7th, 1942: Edward Hopper completes his best known painting, the seminal Nighthawks. When asked by a Chicago Tribute reporter about the philosophical meaning behind the diner having no clearly visible exits Hopper responded, “Shit. Fuck. I did it again. Goddamnit. Fuck. Not again. I did it again. Shit.” and slammed his hat on his leg.

I bet folks in Dresden wished that they could have had that back in World War II... maybe they'd have seen "it" coming...

Those people had just a really crappy Valentine's Day in 1945...

Observation tower, Dresden. September 2018.

There comes a point in life when you just have to accept that shit is pervasive and persistent... I'm there now...

Finally! Scientifically intelligent graffiti.

Lunatic Poetry was the order of the past few nights:

4/⁰3/²0²2:

"Sometimes I just can't..."

Charcoal dawn, purple sunset

Beautiful and distracting, dizzying...

When I should sleep I know not

All I can think of is where you are...

My compass is broken,

the magnetism tuned to foreign poles...

So I'll wander about until you whisper...

Then I'll be whole...

...I hope...

A stream of silver clouds now, above, carrying a question: Is this your game, or is it mine?

Answer: I won't know until you kiss me that one last time...

Another: Which of us owns the other, I wonder...

You reply: the memory of your smile... and I begin swimming again... or drowning... not sure which...

Autonomic reflex embroiled in a battle with the hunger of a starving heart...

I live this battle every second,

To the point that it defines me...

My heroin...

I scream, long and silent:

Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you....

Then, in supplication: please fuck me just one more time...

... for old time's sake...

Please...

...

It's crude, but then, again, love is brutal and rapacious...as is my appetite for every atom of you...

[Note: I don't know what it all means. I was held captive by the crashing words and could do little else but grip the pen with a shaking hand and tears in my eyes. I swear I wasn't inebriated in that time of writing, but I can't swear that I was sane. Still, it stirs something in me to know it issued forth from some part of me, a part I thought maybe dead, but at least dormant for the past five or six years. It felt good to pour out verse. And I knew I had to share it...

Thank you for indulging me by reading this.

Closing note: I think I may have been possessed by the ghost of Charles Bukowski, now that I think of it...]

So this shite happened...

Doris is a fucking peach.

And whatever happened to 'agree to disagree' and intelligent conversation? If we differ, let's talk about it. Don't take a passive aggressive ditch route to snipe at me like some pesky ankle-nipper. This is weak shite.

But let me know in the comments your take and opinion. I'll consider every perspective and angle. Because, after all, I'm open to everything and opposed to nothing. Nothing except, that is, chicken-shit trolls, Internet shit-and-runs, fux who shite-post and then tuck tail and delete the account or block me from any kind of rebuttal, and time-wasters

Why are you even on Tumblr if all you do is comment the most vile and uneducated shit on posts that have nothing to do with you? Take your Trump praise and your old, unfunny ass back to Twitter.

I am not a Trump fan, and never voted for him. But I see the evils that the Leftists are selling (and have been selling for over a century) and the idiots who suck it up. Idiots like you and every other person that wants their hedonism to go on unchecked; that wants their free everything; that wants to run and hide behind Liberal government, even when that government takes away individual liberties and locks people up in their own homes? And as far as education goes, I have more education and sense than you could ever amass, and I use my intellect in far better ways than you and those like you. You, however, want to shriek at people who disagree, seek to get them canceled, and say worse and more vile things than I ever have. And never once do you employ reason and logic to see the Liberal plots for what they really are. But you gobble down all the MSM trash and the political narratives (pronounced LIES) that Lefties throw your way. So, yeah, therein lies the vitriol, pathetic "anonymous" person. You don't even have the temerity to use a name or handle that isn't veiled. That is referred to as being chicken shit. And I have little care or time for cowards. Yes, that means you.

So: Do piss off. And leave me to my First Amendment rights. And I don't hang about Twitter, you assumptive POS.

I'll pray for you, but I think we both know you're beyond the reach of God or salvation.

I believe that Sheep Singers is a better term...

Or is that unfair to Sheep? Does it detract from the creative powers that Sheep possess and these "entertainers" don't?

Been away for a few days/nights, sorting out the grain from the chaff. And by God's grace and love, I've been successful...

And just when I thought the gifts couldn't get richer, I found a poem come flowing out tonight. It may read as a sadness, but read deeper, because there's love and the anticipation of a love that holds the salvation one man, this man, sought. That salvation was delivered to me by Providence, and this poem marks the time it took me to come to this revelation...

1:

Red cirrus swipes against blue canvas

The colors should grasp my voice and send it heavenward, but I can't... just can't

Birds alight like dreams upon my head, shoulders

They wheedle me for a song to join theirs...

But I can't... just can't...

A child laughs and invites me into her otherwise private joke at the ridiculous world of ridiculous grown-ups...

I smile, and, for that briefest of explosions from the canyons of my yesterdays, I want to join her. Join her and force my wild laughter to Heaven's gate... but I can't... just can't...

A friend died today, or maybe a century ago, but it feels like every second he's there, then not...

And before tears can own me, I remember his jokes about living, dying, soaring, searing and God, and I want to laugh... but I can't... just can't...

I sit on the quiet bench among heavy skies, and I know, now, the reason for my can'ts...

I can't until there's you to show me I can...

Postscript:

God gave me HER, as undeserving as I was for all my years, and she shines a light dipped in God's lustrous Waters, a light that guides me in Stygian nights and stormswept days. And I decry my unending gratitude for God's gift of her. Amen.