“ . . . the tragedy of man’s destiny  --   forever caught between birth and death  --  aware

of the strange disparity between the great space of the imagination

and the material human fate . . .

Rothko was aware his means fell short of his vision . . . he exclaimed during 

optimistic moments: 

                                ‘They are not paintings.’ ” *

Optimistic moments naturally balance Pessimistic ones

                                                                                                          she readily admitted

her pessimism

                         and with a snaggletoothed turn in her mouth  curling her lips   discretely

maybe cruelly 

                         she said pessimythic  deliberately upping the ante
  

 

he loved how it tilted out from her lips  

                                                                 birthed in her mouth

1520,  John Lennon’s Moanday,  8  12. 14

Dore Ashton quote from Mark Rothko: Works On Paper *

Camel toes in camouflage caps

two of things that tweaked him

and one atop the other 

                                     Christ!

theyre unnecessary

                                 and he didnt wanna hear   no dont tell him   theyre inobvious

--  stand before a dressing mirror before heading out into the WHOLE WIDE WORLD  --

he was buggered 

 

                              utterly buggered    that a woman would intentionally wear them

and make  quite  the knockout fashion statement

                                                                                        camel toes in camouflage caps

                                                                                                    Whasdat say ?

1451,  John Lennon’s Moanday, 8  12. 14

A glint from off a mudribboned gravel and chalkstone hillock

                                                                                                          It was brilliant

it held the sun in its teeth like a nugget or sliver of lightning

It yanked his eyes off the traffic running ahead of him

strands of barbedwire from a broken fence threw themselves inbetween them trying to

blindfold it

but its brilliance eclipsed them

it fixed a molten eye on his

daring him to stare back

its impervious gaze burned a black spot on his retina

  

and hurtling past it

it was gone

 

                             a cheap glass bottle heaved up onto the wayside replacing it

1321,  John Lennon’s Moanday,  8  12. 14