When the good guys fall. And you don't even push them on purpose, you're just dancing and you collide. And then you see there is no skin on the bottom of their feet. And then you see that their bodies are hollow. And then you look around and expect to see the world crumbling, because the world you know is crumbling.
No, that scenario is not good enough for me. So I fill up the fallen soldier with dirt and sellotape some soles to his feet. And I role him out of my courtyard. And I find a way to keep dancing.
This is today.
The magician isn't magic.
Magic tricks aren't magic.
Only magic is magic.
And I do not find it in his eyes.
I dedicate my day no more to petty, ridiculous, mysterious scraps. I dedicate my day to the love I know and feel and see and breathe.
Today I shall finish 'The Dancing Poet'. And I shall also finish the painting I started yesterday, 'This Man's Best Friend'. I am excited to begin finishings. A gathering of threads, a completion of weaving.
I was also excited to cut up a magazine (like I was a child, cutting out some idol) and to stick images to my walls. Images of my favourite art. Inspiring, no?