The Scream

AmZyg knows the trauma of Artist Angst. Her art once produced a selfportrait of anguished proportions enough for even Munch to be impressed.  [just returned from a search for same, thinking to post it here after thirty years in mothballs, but i remember now:]

...wanting to put away demons forever, I cast it out on garbage day. But the demons stayed.


.well. a few remain. anyway. [paintings? or demons?] .both.

Edvard Munch, explaining his (now $119,000,000) work, The Scream, expressed pain at his sister’s habitations in an insane asylum, and how, when passing it on the street, one could hear

“an 

infinite scream 

passing through nature.”

I know that scream. 

My sickened heart takes it in every day since we learned a hospital for people trapped in their bodies was moving into the house next door. My backyard, my livingroom, my kitchen and dining room, now resonate with God's forsaken.

Sounds of a verdict none can escape.

To Leon Black. Your collections, your remote days and sequestered nights, your $1,000 dollar fastfood breakfasts and $100,000 slow food dinners can never erase the pervasive, everywhere screaming indictment. Your fortune may guarantee freedom from proximity to my neighbors' scream,

but,

Life comes for us all.  

We both have our interest in numbing alcohol.

Escorting my in-law's dog out of my car, looked down; saw this.

.
God abides all time
.
So
.
Why are we still here
?