A Structure of a Working Soul

There is a display window on the ground floor. I toil there all day long.
– Nice shoes! – the crowd swoons. The encouragement spurs me on. I make another display.
– Nice smile! – the crowd concurs. That inspires my next display.
– What an intense gaze! – the crowd appreciates the cutting edge style.
When 7PM comes, I punch out, close the curtains and take the elevator to 77th floor to my private room. The room is small and dingy. There is nothing to occupy myself with so I sketch out ideas for the next day’s display. 
Then I sleep.
In the morning I can barely wait till the teeth are brushed and breakfast eaten. At 7 AM I take the elevator to the ground floor and start to toil again.
The Regret Man knocks on the glass.
– You’ll regret not having spend more time with your family,- he says. 
– What?! – I shout pretending I don’t hear him behind the glass. He always says the same thing. When I used to spend more time with my family he said I’d regret not having gone to New York to measure my ambitions.
The Passion Lady pushes him aside. 
– How about some straying?- she says. – When was the last time you had your emotions exhilarated? 
Last time I got my emotions exhilarated I got crabs so I show her with my fingers crabby moves. She back off.
Queen Depression descends with the twilight and without speeches tries to encase me. But I am already encased by my display window. She howls like a wind behind the glass, scaring me. I stop work and creep into a corner. It gets darker and darker. I whimper.
My Work Angel picks me up and gives me a flashlight. 
– Never stop working unless you have to make new sketches, – he instructs me. – Your work is your fort. Leaving it for fear, passion or regret is like leaving the fort without army during a war.

Sketch for display with random thoughts. Obscure.

Sketch 2 for the story. Sadly obscure.

Nota Bene: if something looks phallic in my drawings that’s meant to be. If you are compelled to analyze me, you are very welcome (lots of work to be done!), just don’t touch my phallic symbols. They are very sensitive.

About rocksinmypocketsthemovie

I was born in Latvia, educated in Moscow, live in New York. I have made about 14 animated shorts so far.
This entry was posted in Depression. Personal Stories, Hazards of being an artist, The Work in Progress and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to A Structure of a Working Soul

  1. Cecile says:

    “Time passes. Someone counts it. If you didn’t count it, you didn’t get old.”

    Wonderful wonderful sketches & writing about the artist’s life & thoughts. They ring so true.

    How come the desire for being seen never diminishes, no matter what you do or have done?

    Passion, fear, regret: them’s the drives, them’s the breaks (brakes?)

    Thank you for yet another wonderful post.

    Much love to the Bay of Whales in Brooklyn.


    • Thank you, Cecile! that was a strange fairy tale in my head, was not sure how it would communicate it’s meaning. Sometimes I can get too deep into the territory of the obscure. As to Time: I am a slider on the scale, measuring weight relationship between Past and Present. When there is too much Past, I’ll be doomed. Kisses. S.

  2. Just make sure the display is done before the planet crashes into the earth.
    Your writing is really an inspiration. I’m constantly on the watch for your next posting.

    • Thank you, Michael! I am working obsessively as the big strange planet is approaching fast. One can never be sure if and when it will crash the earth so things must be in order at all times. I get manic when there is a hint of disorder in the vicinity I think I can control.
      Seriously, “Melancholia” really hit the right spot with me – the phobia I had had for many years – time to time when I look at the Moon I cant comprehend what prevents it from falling on Earth and then I imagine it falling on Earth and I get dizzy, my heart starts to race, I break into sweat, feel weak and am about to faint. To snap out of it I “unimagine” everything I just imagined and focus on small things near me – the fingernails, the table top, the crooked wall. That soothes me. I forget the strange planetary indifference to human life and get back to my human size misery.

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