2010-11-24 - 11:25 a.m.
Ежик в тумане
there is a film over my vision, a patchy and crawling distortion. i like long runs on foggy mornings, a hot shower, reading poetry through the steam of the kettle or in a kayak on the misty lake, grasping at straws.
losing the color red is like pulling a muscle in your chest. it fades from unexpected places - you never realized how many gestures need pectoralis minor until each one came to bring you pain.
when i paint from life, i can accurately match the colors. but when i work from memory, it's like a vein opened onto the canvas, vivid and dark and too raw to bear.
* * *
reading: folktales in fragile dialects.
listening to: aphex twin - windowlickers.
working on: keeping busy hands.
in the garden: a conflagration of maples.