The Artist’s Luxury

Thoughts and impressions sit
on my lips;
a white painful blister that’ll never pop,
giving satisfaction like a zit,
but only turn into a gothic sore.
A disappointment.

I roll my tongue over the
extravagant epiphany
that has manifested as a scabby, deformed
version of the golden eternal inspiration.
This isn't the garden of Eden I walked
barefoot through in my imagination…

Instead, I duck my head and wear sunglasses.
I’m afraid they’ll cringe, or laugh, or worse -
Cover their children’s eyes while they tisk, tisk.
“if you could only see what I saw…”

A Foreshadow?

A Foreshadow?
Originally uploaded by A Schultz.

A friend and I got to Snowbowl at 9:30 last Monday. The sun was out and there wasn't any wind. Blue bird, warm - it smelled like march 25th. By the time we left at noon my waxless base resisted every turn and something flaked a chunk off my top sheet b/c of the odd coverage.

I have never noticed the Maclay project from Snowbowl until I looked at this photo. These lines are noticeable from everywhere around Missoula - Snowbowl, Waterworks, Sentinel, S, hills, Scott st. bridge... They loom. My eyes always resist these lines because they look like giant worms eating the into the mountain. Now, because I noticed them looming in this photo, they will loom above Snowbowl and it's future.