This is me.
The cocked head of a Jack Russell has a hilarious almost bewitching affect on me. To the extent that I’ve entered it into google to see if perhaps others are similarly entranced. To my surprise and further amusement the yield returned to me by request was multitudinous.
The tilt of the head the angle and the way the ears sit up it just gets to me. I freaking love it!
We had a few Jack Russells growing up. I have magical memories of them all. One as a tiny pup tucked inside my dad’s jacket on the bike out in Skerries. They agreed with us Jack Russells. They understood the family ways and rolled right in giving as good as they got.
Podge was a stalwart. A bright spark too. Hearing the reports about a serial killer in Milwaukee on the news signalled it was time for his evening stroll. He’d start wagging and looking up excitedly for his lead as he did when we called walkies to him and who were we to refuse.
Most of all I loved the experience of coming home from school each day, getting off the number thirty at the entrance to Baymount Park and seeing him fly out the gate darting rapidly dart down to meet me his back leg out a fetching idiosyncrasy that only added to the delightful welcome.
Currently rereading Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn. I read it once before over a year ago and see that I have underlined more passages than I have done in any school text.
The passages that struck me then as particularly resonant are today even more so. I’m grateful to have made indications to such passages as I know they are they’re readily accessible to me whenever the need for sustenance arises.
On the pursuit of gaining an understanding of himself he says
I couldn’t afford to leave things hanging in suspense that way- the mystery was too intriguing. Even if I had to rub myself like a cat against every human being I encountered, I was going to get to the bottom of it. Rub long enough and hard enough and the spark will come
The painting is a new work in acrylic.
A spontaneous drawing part playful doodle, part existential cris de couer. Falling is a deeply psychological fear I have. Palpable before conscious awareness. It comes from some primal place.
When thinking of falling I sense my brain is housed beneath my chest. That is where the knowledge and the reactions happen.
I see curtains blowing in a window many floors up in a high rise apartment building and I become transfixed by the almost hypnotic sensation of paralysing dread that it evokes in me.
In this fear of mine I see how closely tied the psychological is with the physical. The mind can perceive and analyse the connection but it is somehow apart from the phenomenon.
Within the crypt laying undisturbed for centuries is an unknown force of immeasurable magnitude
Sealed off from the outer world to avoid contamination, it undergoes a mysterious process
no trace of it exists, at surface level all is discreet
Unknowingly waiting in dutiful living the world churns
a hollow is hollowed from beneath
quietly imperceptibly new formations and permutations evolve, dissolve in unobserved fractal dancing
to a droning hum of distant industry accompanied