|after a strange emotional day, painting at Brioni's always sorts things out|
The New Primgraph Magazine was stuffed in the door of the Hypnotic Shoppe, and I ran to it, threw it onto the desk by the door and flipped to the Hypnotic Shoppe ad. There it was! Stark and mysterious as I had drawn up. I clicked it, to receive the notecard that tells all about the enigmatic advertisement, and nothing happened. No Landmark, no notecard, nothing!
A full page ad, THOUSANDS of lindens, and it is as good as pointless! The ad cost more than I made in a month at the shoppe, and I knew any moment the creditors would be at the door!
In Caledon, creditors can not imprison anyone for debt, but does this apply to clockwork persons? They would not need to send me to a jail, just dial up the local junkyard! Can I be "repossessed"?
Images flashed-of car smashing machines pressing on me, dipping me in bronze and sitting me in some park somewhere, or the New Babbage Smelting and Steel Factory, and the last bath I would ever have,,,
I found myself sitting at Brioni's, paintbrush in hand. Since becoming sentient i have enjoyed the warm Southend air and sun, painting outside at Brioni's cafe- it is most calming! I tried painting the image of my Typist, hoping she would plea my case to the Great Doll Maker, shakily throwing color on canvas in huge globs.
My thoracic cog package developed a strange palpitation in the main pump, flutters in those valves, raised temperature and pressure, slight confusion, and a strange pain in the chest,, is this,, emotion? what a very unpleasant feeling!
I noted also in this "Clockwork" issue, in the pictures of the Clockwork ball, I was missing, in the article for clockwork and doll shoppes of the Steamlands, I was missing, in the clockwork Who's Who article, same. At first I thought perhaps it was because they saw the real me so well, they no longer even saw my key, heard the ticking. But what if it was something else? Ohh, the pressure rose more, my mouth and skin got terribly dry. My hand shook as I tried to emulate Van Gogh's brush stroke method.
A courier walked up with a huge bouquet of Flowers! In it was a letter, from one of my students at the University- Boog75.
"Saw this and thought of you- Thank you for the class."
I held the stool with both hands as my body shook and my eyes leaked hot water in torrents. I laughed and hugged my flowers, which had a powerfully sweet fragrance.
I finished the painting, capped my oils and sat for a long time, trying to get all my brain cogs to spin at the same speed. I realized I was painting myself. We are all painting ourselves, every day. And some people see some meanings and images in your art, and others see other sides. I needed to keep painting me, because where some people may see an indebted metal automaton fit for the scrapyard, others saw a smart and giving professor, that cared for them, and they cared back. And sent flowers.
|Wearing the DCNY swing coat, fashionable for Spring|