Poetry, notes, and marginalia by William Michaelian
Hi William!I must say: it's extreme expressive!really good, it agree with my moral these days (smile)
He looks so sad and forlorn...as if all hope is gone. What is it that draws his face down, turns his smile down? I hope that some trace of happiness will bring a change for him...It is a very good drawing William but such a sad one...at least to me.
Well, Laura, maybe some of us are happier when we’re sad.... or we’re both at the same time. Thank you for your kind words.Janice, I wish I had an answer. I don’t that he feels hope is gone; it might just be an aspect of long weariness. The lines in his face do speak of miles.
Miles of your smiles carved the paths on that green mountain,trail of tormented waters left empty beds behind just like my love left me.Aleksandra
Oh, Aleksandra — did my little drawing cause you to write this beautiful poem?
You're right William...I can see the lines of weariness that have etched his face with not only age but character...He is tired poor soul...
You draw a mouth that is not necessarily visible on your person, covered as it were, by fur. And even should you smile, or smirk...we may not know it. Kinda cool that. Mysterious William. MW. WMMWWMMWWMMWWM ad infinitum.
When the kids were young, their friends in the neighborhood used to say, “Your dad doesn’t have a mouth.” And so they learned to read my eyes. They began by thinking I was quite serious. But soon they knew otherwise.He blinks slowly; it takes him a thousand years....
I think he looks a tiny bit like Ronnie James Dio this time, who just passed on (and hopefully to somewhere stylish). Thanks for another one - do you display these all at once anywhere, like perhaps a shadowy, cool hallway?
Yes,combined with major attack of depression!Loads of sadness and these words just pop out spontaneously like a mountain gazer, when I red "The lines in his face do speak of Miles". I did write sometimes you know,just seems so faraway....have headaches from crying... glad you liked it
Well, PG, I see what you mean — this does sort of look like him, at least on a good day. Meanwhile, I’m considering just such a display. You might even say that I’m in it for the long hall.Aleksandra, I’ve known for quite some time about your poetic tendencies, because passages like these appear again and again in your comments here. And they are not only sad, but joyful. And you will see, this dark season will pass, because you’re so in tune with the beauty in things. In the meantime, I’ll be thinking about you.
Oh God,poetic tendencies ,it sounds like suicidal tendency's, :O)First I was a poet than the other lame tries to communicate with humans came,via drawings or dance or paintings!Thank you for your thoughts but what happened to William?
William is a figment of our imagination....
Do you have a name? Would you care to tell me a bit about yourself? How did you end up here,in house of William? Can you give him my best,warmest regards,pretty please? :)My word verification is shonom,its sounds like shalom...
It does. For fun, I will answer you in these words from In Watermelon Sugar, a book I love by Richard Brautigan:. . . I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on you. Just call me whatever is in your mind. If you are thinking about something that happened a long time ago: Someday asked you a question and you did not have the answer. That is my name. Perhaps it was raining very hard. That is my name. Or somebody wanted you to do something. You did it. Then they told you what you did was wrong — “Sorry for the mistake,” — and you had to do something else. That is my name. Perhaps it was a game that you played when you were a child or something that came idly into your mind when you were old and sitting in a chair near the window. That is my name. . . .
Intolerable fuzziness of dreams, sometimes
Aye, especially when they overlap.
Post a Comment