They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn't. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.
My blood is a miracle that, from my veins, crosses the air in my heart into yours.
Take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are a bourbon biscuit.
Everyone's opinions about things change over time. Nothing is constant. Everything changes. And to hold onto some dogged idea forever is a little rigid and maybe naive.
I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to better.
To feel the anguish of waiting for the next moment and of taking part in the complex current (of affairs) not knowing that we are headed toward ourselves, through millions of stone beings - of bird beings - of star beings - of microbe beings - of fountain beings toward ourselves.