Friday, July 3, 2009
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Is there ever any particular spot where one can put one's finger and say, "It all began that day, at such a time and such a place, with such an incident? Agatha Christie
Opening the door I knew in my gut that something was amiss. However on this day as most others since my recent ordeal I was not a resident of my body. It had been through quite enough. I'm 18. I'm looking for a holiday. I've come here to visit my group of friends. I don't want to think about all that my body and heart have just been through.
The house is silent. Eerily quiet.
I look to the left. The dining room is empty. The table is scattered with fabrics lying in wait about the sewing machine. The four Bose speakers stand tall in their respective corners. Mute.
I look to the right there is no one at the large welcoming kitchen table, its benches akimbo as though someone recently pushed heels against the floor, turning to leave.
Which is what I do.
This quick retrospective sketch done in Sumo...