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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.


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