i tried to draw. that indicates i failed to draw. i tried one of the pier with waves crushing over. erased it. tried to draw the tree at top without looking. what seems is i can't draw what i see, or feel. some things are more native to one or an other. when i drew the red bunny sort of egyptian style my art teacher must of said the arms and legs are all on one side, or, bunnies are not red. that's one story. i stopped anyway. did i write something? i don't think so. i just stopped. my sister got good at art and grew up and went to art school. years later i saw the flattened bunny and i liked it, but remembered at the same time that was when i stopped. that may be true or not. it doesn't matter, my sister was the artist so i became the writer. i went through the same thing in writing but didn't stop at least not altogether, i didn't stop dead, i stopped writing poems except i wrote when i drank, soused poems on a portable typewriter with sticking keys. nothing survives from the drinky poem time, or if so well ignored and yellowing under some detritus back at my studio apartment vacated by the former artist's suicide. so i thought why do i need to draw or feel like i cannot, do i need to feel repeatedly i can't? what's the point, you do what you can, right? of course you can't say you can't draw or you can't write that would be patently false even if you don't have hands. there are ways and ways to draw and write, even if you don't draw or write, you can do something with that obscure itch to do something. if you have the wish or the itch you will do something even if it's seeing and feeling the impression of light through your retina turned right side up on the concave wall of your skull. so i said ok it may be i diverged from the red bunny drawer and my sister so she could be that and i could be the other, or maybe i just got lazy and felt all i need is my camera obscura and light.