6s – Page 2 – Amanda Salisbury

Yike. I was certainly in a mood this day. I remember precisely why but you’ll never get me to tell.

-AS

Beyond the Mist

Originally posted on a 6s community September 22, 2010 at 9:47am

Let me disabuse you of your preconceived ideas, those thoughts that form nearest your cerebellum and rise like mist among the hills and ravines of your mind, those ideas you cannot remember making, those notions born of the marriage of your skewed perception and falsest memories. I am not the thing, vile and despised, you think you see through that mist; if the mist fell, and your guard alongside, you would sit in a pool of self-derived fear and awe, unable to look away.

For the mist dampens my appearance, and, once clarity prevails, you will see the razor’s edge of my form. I am both more and less than your notions have allowed you to believe, and truth will drop the scales from your mind’s eye.

I am neither Monster nor Mary Sue; I am neither folklore nor convention; I am neither breakable nor bulletproof. I am but a woman with all the attendant capability and completeness: both hard and soft; simultaneously reasoning and emotional; given to each passion, reflection, and resolution, in turn; desirous of you seeing the fullness of my personhood and hesitant to remove the mist of misperception, because I am both terrible and beautiful to behold, and you will never be the same again.

Paint with a Two-Inch Brush

My! how times have changed! Still no mirrors or saw blades. But more than walls.

-AS

Paint with a Two-Inch Brush

Originally posted on a 6s community April 11, 2011 at 11:58pm

I paint, not watercolor or oil on canvas or mirrors or old saw blades, not realist and not impressionist and certainly not surrealist.

I paint thirsty walls and cabinets that haven’t been painted in thirty-some-odd years. I used to tape every bit of wood, but now I tape nothing, drape nothing, wear the same clothes I wear to church. I use a two-inch brush, and I ease the paint toward all the edges while music blasts in my ears – Red Hot Chili Peppers tonight – and I thrill when no paint drops or runs or errantly spots some nonpaint surface; in that moment my world feels ordered and comprehensible. Within this paint-sphere I can laugh or sing or cry; I can breathe.

And I remember from whence I came; I remember that a job well done satiates in a world where so much is left undone.