writing

so it is 8:56 in the morning on january 5th.,2009. sitting on the fourth floor, in the painting studio. on granville island, somewhere in vancouver. am typing away. it is toasty in here, quiet, slightly desolate. outside it is so very snowy. but in here is the palpatable expectation for great ideas that will transcend art and science, that will bring us world peace. that kind of thing. potential that stalls, that waits. thoughts that glimpse around. there are voices in the back, the sound of a classroom, classrooms. writing seems an obsolete artform in an artschool, where visuals rule, should rule. where thoughts are so very benign. where blogs are created. she puts together sentences that seem to go nowhere, pushes words into the confines of syntaxes. outside she can see a splattered-on canvas, a paint-washed board. a paintsplashed table. the paintingstudio, the painting studio. where she uses the mac computer extensively. it is the only one in the whole school that has sound. where one can listen to all the sounds that one puts on animations, the ultimate sound studio up here in the painting place. where behind her people splash paint on canvas, smush pigments into coarse fabric. this is where words form. inevitably. unescapably. where literature is born. and great literature that is. on a blog. on this particular blog. words catapulting through cyberspace. up until may, smushing themselves towards graduation. the blog will be her grad piece. where words are so very profound. so very much.