I crack ball-bearing knuckles absently as I sift through the debris in my head. The ideas roll around indiscriminately. Little painted marbles in a pristine white box. But none of them make any sense. They are just shards of color crashing into one another. Smearing the walls with tiny starbursts of absent consideration. I pluck another little glass bead out and hold it to the light to examine it. Distracted consideration before smashing it into a fine powder of words. I exert all the finesse of a brick to the face.
Held between fingers of rigid plastique, my eyes of acrylic can't pierce the paint. They are too opaque, the little mind-marbles. Painted sloppily, with the strokes of a Dunning-Kruger expert.
I try and wipe away the oil. I only succeed in smearing pigmented artificiality all over myself. And all this dye means I don't have the turpentine to clean what I have soiled.
11:15 p.m. - 2014-06-23
Recent entries:
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