and so, a big red circle is all,
all i've produced since returning.
not even pretty, just red. and all the ideas that were buzzing and pushing around in the space between my head and my heart, gripping the larynx, to be precise, have found no outlet, as of yet. and now time is in the vortex phase of its final december tricklings, and soon there will be flying, and the randomness of minutes and days, and all these colours and paintbrushes and canvases and things will have to wait some more. but the pens will come, and the fingers, and the boxes of memories and all such stored information. and so maybe next year there will be time and space for me to attempt, so insufficiently, to encapsulate worlds and pieces of worlds within this strange necessity that is painting, again. its a way for me to see better and look more, you see, as being human and trying to undertand human gets a little much at times.

also: