I was able to catch some sleep this morning, though it was not sleep Id been chasing. But a barrage of silent conversations to span from rise to fall of the nights scenery.
Tubes of paint vanished to a canvas that looks mysteriously similar to its state 32 hours ago. So where did it all go, i wonder? Somewhere in this house is 4 oz of Cadmium Red. Can there really be so many layers? And more disturbing, are they all the same? I knew that shade didn't work, but i tried still, somehow expecting the right color to emerge.
Hmmm..isn't that used as an example of insanity?
I found solace in the discussion of dufflebags and film. Of reality and perception. Questions of memories danced to my eyes before the sun found its way thru my windows. Things not known, and not knowing what is unknown. What is self? How mch is too much for a pair of jeans? Whatever happened to that fabulous shirt? Desires, temptations, forgetfulness. Quiet battles with deafaning results. These things played with me to the overlap of days.
They plays still. My hands remain covered in dry paint, reminding me Im not yet finished.
And with this I return to stratify my reds with purple or blue. perhaps green. Perhaps.
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