Mechanical Tension > Bioelectric Charge > Bioelectric Discharge > Mechanical Relaxation
The question of things existing only in my head is still troubling me. What is in my head is not a burning forest, but a painting of a burning forest. With swirls. And with anxiety in it. Though a certain amount of anxiety may be about that the painting will not sell. But I am not seeing the painting itself, but a reproduction of it and a caption, saying Soft Wear. Though there is no painting of a burning forest called Soft Wear anywhere. Not even in my head, since as I said in my head is only a reproduction of that painting.
I rarely did portraits. All of my paintings are now in those galleries in this Museum I can’t remember the name. What I did was stand them between various canvases in the permanent collection. Some overlapped those others at their lower corners. A certain amount of warp has occurred since. Most likely from having been leaning for so many years rather than being hung. Glamorously hanging out.
Eaten up by societal consensus, when dying, he is, for the first time, in a state of truth. The reinvention of what it means to be responsible one might call smart weirdness. How he likes the movement of his ass, trapped in an endless cycle. Discussions of the park, assiduously audited, in terms of popularizing something, frame a curtained corner. In the farthest reaching negation, stories oscillating between make and be made and quote unquote: anxieties are exposed.