Carpet Veins

These are two of my favourite photos of The Doors. I first saw these photos when I was about 10 years old & I have never stopped wondering what they were thinking about… or what happened to that amazing carpet; to me it looked like the veins on an arm & they were all coming out of Jim Morrison. It’s possible these photos are the reason I became obsessed with the veins in my own arms & spent years carving them up, who knows, perhaps I was looking for a Door.

The Doors, 1968
Photography by Art Kane

© Art Kane 1968

© Art Kane 1968

Violet Not Okay

.::~~I WON’T BE OKAY AND I WON’T PRETEND THAT I AM~~::.

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Still

I sat on the balcony tonight cutting open the skin around my ankles. I rested them up on the balcony railing & laid back in my chair, letting the blood drip down to the ground below. Back into the earth where it belongs.
 
I have tried to take photos of the sparrows flitting through the air catching mosquitos. They know I am there even though I do not make a sound. I catch a thought of you, wondering what kind of sounds you’re making right now. Whether you’re alone, or with friends, with a lover? Maybe you’re breathlessly making love out in the open like I am imagining with you right now. Maybe you’re sleeping or working. I don’t know where you are.
 
Having not heard from you in a while I figure there must be a new woman on the scene. Yes, that is the first thing that comes to mind… You rarely talk about women. The occasional mention of someone from the past… Ringa… She seems to come up the most. Maybe I am like her? Maybe not.
 
I look down at the ankles that keep me walking further from you.
 
The blood drips still…