the weather feels like im waiting in the jungle for something to happen, something. i havent painted since my last days in brittonie, i havent had much relation to it since i got back from france, im not at all accounting it to general malaise, for not having a job, digesting my time in europe, my last dinner in italy... its not even that i am afraid of the painting, i am afraid of it, i have been since i started it, i weakly muscled through the hotel scene, painted fantastic shrimp to "save time. If you eat these I'll never question your courage again."
its almost like a botched limb transplant, i dont want it on me but its in me, i dont know where my "love" of war and humanity's inability to be civil and work for a common, notice not greataer cause, but something that benefits anyway, look switzerland's a bunch of beautiful looking pansies and they seem pretty calm, why cant that exist? give me the new swiss order and ill stop ranting.
im tired, the painting not even being worked on is killing me, the fact that i dont know when i can see it again, paint it again.
spell fear. and shes sad too.
