This is my Kumbla. "A kumbla is like a beach ball. It bounces with the sea but never goes down. It is indomitable. The kumbla is an egg shell, not a chicken's egg or a bird's egg shell. It is the egg of the August worm. It does not crack if it is hit. Your kumbla will not open unless you rip its seams open. It is a round seamless calabash that protects you without caring. Your kumbla is a parachute. You, only you, pull the cord to rip its seams. From the inside. For you." (Erna Brodber)
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Free spirit.
Sometimes I feel like I am painted in dull, badly mixed acrylic on a too-large canvas. The unfinished idea that someone had of perfection, held in neurotic birthed short weak stroked finish. The remains of a fading dream three days too late in capturing.
Sometimes I feel so very trapped...and long for freedom.
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