susurrus. susurrus, susurrus, susurrus.

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i'm painting my closet doors. mondrian. something about war, and another thing about peace. last night was spent with paint on my hands, war on the wall and thoughts of someone in my head. i remember rembrandt's crucifixion--three crosses--in my head. lights and metal, sharp.










a lot of the time, trying to understand is not comfortable; there are no pleasantries in comprehension and your brain is ravaged with empty, open-ended questions that you know are impossible and pointless. and at those times, nothing really helps you to sleep, or even calm the rush in your head.














what will the MOON look like tonight, when i'm crammed in my room with paint, my bones wet and burning with want of purpose and motivation. where will the energies run. what will i amount to.





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