Saturday, 10 March 2012

Untitled

The sun is shining but I don't feel it on my face. Its shadow feels where I am more comfortable.  Its light isn't my place to be. I feel unclean to be shone upon.

My eyes don't look forward. They look at the pavement. I hope to fall into the cracks and never resurface. I walk on the cracks.

This walk to the shops feels like another journey I don't want to take. I want the end to come quickly so I don't have to walk another weary step. I want to stop now and go no further.

Weary. So fucking weary.

Sent from my smartphone

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About Me

We It comes in part from an appreciation that no one can truly sign their own work. Everything is many influences coming together to the one moment where a work exists. The other is a begrudging acceptance that my work was never my own. There is another consciousness or non-corporeal entity that helps and harms me in everything I do. I am not I because of this force or entity. I am "we"