The Half Finished Confessions of Craig Mason

I met Craig Mason, a young artist, and expatriate teacher in Daegu, at the launch party of Daegu Pockets, and of course I ran into him again at an International Art Show, at the Daegu EXCO, and later on when he was slaving away during Crap Art at Club That. When I asked Craig to contribute my blog, he quickly volunteered, and I was actually inspired his reply. I myself, was stuck in some sort of writer's stalemate, over thinking the direction where I was going. His email and contribution woke me up. Other friends of mine had given up, life events overtook their art, and for others, a simple, "ahhhhhhhhhhh, about that project" gave way. I know what I committed to, and this year, I have not had the luxury to agonize non-stop at my keyboard. So, with my notebooks strewn across the floor I went back to work and I will finish, because there is something good about keeping your commitments. THANK YOU CRAIG, your email came at the right time.

WARM-BLOODED ANIMAL


It's what we are in this place, or used to be,
Where we've been, where we come from, how we got here,
Who we know, what we have before us, how
The world on its own is here without us, how

Life is a mysterious fog we live in, how
Dreams go backwards, fix themselves in the form of
Beliefs grown over us here, us saying
We could have been struggling here, strangled even,

Said of we believe in ourselves at last,
Brought into focus by it being said we did
Cruise over the world here, in the air verily,
Believed in as this wide world we know, and shouting all the while.

Verse and Images by Craig Mason

Hey Marilyn,
I've been in a similar situation as Amber in trying to represent gratitude for Korea.
It reminds me of when I had to write a short paper about The Feminine Mystique for an American Studies class---eventually, after a year, I finally turned in a poem about a mother resting her eyes as dinner baked in the oven, a cat quizzically eying the cupboards every time his owner opened them, and a student eating peanut butter out of a jar in procrastination.
The professor admitted he didn't understand the poem, but granted me poetic license, and gave me a C for the course.

Maybe if I were to send you a segment of a poem, a picture of the girl I like, and a painting I've been working on, you would give me less than a C!---but it's better than nothing, right?!:
Yes Craig, It's alright. It's as real as life gets. Thank you.