art presents itself in a lot of messed up ways. the story goes, we were sharing an obvious notion, made real as we could have brought, reality supposed in indoctrination, I like paintbrushes, I like ACTION, and CHARGE in capability of wisdom, to be formless, to be unshaped. borders on boundaries. I feel that as I continue in this, I am establishing an electric manifesto on the tepid and turpid natures of both our realities.
slide down central mosaic drive direct vibration basis need and call, fortuitous balance boundary wishingwell basic needed central, spoking and stroking, flat-falling, newness as time continues, basics on invention bounded convention
texture of the forest. I am a man of the forest
the reason we don't exist to be a boundary on windowpane existance, the slippages of credulity into fact and fiction, relation fracas sensibility boundary fundamental.
me screwing up the painting. or should I say, Making It Better. Yes.