i still can't be sure why you do the things you do, or say the things you say.
you people, you fleshy shits. if you actually spoke honestly, if you actually gave me a good, honest reason.
i felt it last night for a flash at 5am in the shower.
it just doesn't feel like it's enough anymore. the flavor isn't lost. the life has not left, and the color has most certainly not departed.
what's the point?
why? a few, a thousand, maybe a few more, will see it. some will feel inspired, some might remember it.
i don't know. it doesn't keep me alive.
and thus the speeding of the film towards a change of pace is instigated. i can't remain here anymore.
acrylic, gouche, conti, ink, derwents, artliner and masking tape in a sketchbook.