Sometimes the power of the ideas that invent themselves inside my corporeal container are more than I can bear. Thoughts, ideas, poems, paintings, they all flow in and through me like a river. Nothing ever comes through as a completed finished piece, just fragments of unencumbered matter. Colors floating by, solid as if they were entities in their own right, pthalo blue against cad yellow (med), cerulean blue, viridian green, cadmium red (deep), titanium white, burnt sienna. Some ideas jagged as a broken mirror flowing through space, complete in its partiality while reflecting my perplexity. Other ideas bouncing through the bitstream, boing, boing, boing, like a gentle, slow moving superball thrown from some unknown character beyond my psyche. Boxes painted, multi-colored, stacked upon one another, all the way to the ceiling. Voices of friends whispering encouraging words in my moments of self-doubt. Moonbeams fluttering as if a butterfly was batting in the way of the light. Copper pipes bent in space, like someone’s long stiff hair floating on a wave of invisible water. Knife blades. Light casting itself on a building in such a way as to make me recall a time in my past, as a child, when I saw lightplay for the first time.
I wonder why women who pee on the seat in public bathrooms never clean up after themselves?