been awhile.

this has been the strangest adventure of my life.
escapism led to blurry eyed video production,
escapism led to running out of money in the very small production account,
escapism led back to the start.
escapism led me out.

and i apologize for s(l)ick poetics but things have changed,
i have 100ft done of three hundred ***** hasnt gotten back to me
so new cities new plans new life.

and altho i have placed this painting as a tree in my life,
consistently branching and growing,
the strange or overtly natural thing about a tree is that it has roots,
deep covered roots, and when painting or visualizing a tree,
sometimes these roots get dug up or validated or any other word you can place.

and then how a painter does video better than painting, i
assuage to branches, to new leaves, to dare i say fruitfulness,

i found out tonite in my first real step away from this painting,
something that scares,
something that i dont like,

when i first started painting, i painted directly from my heart to hand,
i would black out i was painting her and her and her and her
and i would wake up to my mothers care,
my mothers unintelligable support (spelling might be wrong im fucked)
and so i stopped
i started researching leonardo, jacopo, giovanni so i could cope with
having strizucture so the things that happen dont happen.

dear mommy,
how come when sh. tries to paint pretty pictures,
things always end up dead or dying.
your father asked why i have to be so fucking morbid,
i dont know,
its bad genes i guess.
i dont know,
i think if this letter, this writing ends in aduoisbfgkjhdsbgkvljhfbdkjvbndsfjkv
its because i blacked out face down on the keyboard,
but i wont im stronger now, i think,
and im damn sick of thinking,
thanks mom, you were right.
sh.