There’s a song called Daffodil that I posted the lyrics of a few hours ago, and you should really go listen to it sometime. On a day when you’re neither perfectly happy nor truly sad. Put it on loop and really listen. To the words and to the the eerie, broken sound and to Dan Mangan’s unbearably beautifully ragged voice, and I swear to god it’ll seep into your skin. It’s a beautiful song; in a desperate, desolate sort of way that I can’t really explain. And it opens up some dull ache inside of me that I didn’t even know existed.
And so I’ve spent the last two hours painting it. And it’s been so long since I painted that I have no usable paint left in my house anymore. Nor any ink. I just have a lot of photo inks and a few fat brushes that I hate to use and stained bowls for water. I don’t even have any black. And I never paint without black because I’m not sure I know how to. But I thought I might as well give it a shot and it turned out pretty okay, considering how little I had to work with and how long it’s been since I last touched a paintbrush. Also, it turns out I haven’t forgotten how to paint yet.
And now I must sleep.
Goodnight, Zonk. I hope you hear the song soon and I hope I get to paint more and I hope I manage to wake up early enough to go walking with Ila like I promised. I really doubt it though. It’s almost 3 a.m. now and I’m hungry. And I’m also still covered in ink.