psyki sleeveless.
draw me a picture of both of your lungs.
you smile eventually. inevitably.
the spider is jealous. certainly. dragon.
i'm fine, how are you?
sometimes. perhaps. it's not the same.
i cried until i laughed until i cried.
there was nowhere to go except home.
nothing left to be. nothing to do. nobody to love.
i'm fine, how are you?
the truck swerved into my lane, so i promptly left. hello shoulder.
i'm fine, how are you?
rather bumpy. paved with goosebumps.
slow moving vehicles ahead. swerving frantically. stay calm. don't panic.
crazy fast. crazy. hello neck. goodbye.
i'm fine, how are you?
my jacket is in the closet.
i hover beneath a thin layer of icing.
vision blurred by the rain.
smile. wat. cheer up mate.
the sun is shining on you,
and it's better than you think.
wch&Personnel simbolic picture 041112
closer symbiotic picture. 041112
ohsofat I feel the need to meditate on this word...in a certain perspective. The act of drawing...something you see, you don't see, in your mind, with your heart, yeah_whatever. So, this is one of the things I know how to do well. Something that seems to be dying in my world. Drawing for me is not love, not hate, not even necessarily passion. It just is.

I've spent some time analyzing and studying the greats. Drawings, paintings, works of art.

Have you ever not done something so long that you forget what it means to you?
what's it to you?
who go