I woke up in the night, then slept late. All night paper airplanes circled around my unfortunate pimple-ridden head. I am avoiding phone calls. My hair is like string cheese. I go to the studio and fall asleep due to the heavy air. I am not asking for sympathy - this is merely a chronicle. Kibbles and bits are my breakfast this morning - dry dog food in a dirty bowl. I will hold my hands behind my back, get on my knees and chomp them miserably up like a pet. I hope these kibbles smell bad and incite gag reflex riots in the back of my throat. Today I am going to purge myself with backscratchers. Shoving and curdling will occur. All of this is in hope of getting some work accomplished. Paintings!!!! FINISH YOURSELVES FINALLY!!!!!!!! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? Maybe it's the closing down of possibility - as the paintings reach their obvious terminus and only slave-type work is needed to finish, they become oppressive and dreary. Maybe I should start something else to give me a sense that possibilities are opening up again...but maybe that's a waste of time and what I really need to do is FINISH. Four large poopers stare at me, day after day. They say hi. They say ha ha on you. They ask me if they are good enough then they taunt me with "probably not." Foo. MM. Make your calls this morning, then go to the studio armed with lasers and sabers. Go with the intent to finish up, you louse. (Yes I do have lice).
Sorry for the obnoxious post. I will replace it later with something more fantastical, I promise.