painting

i am painting for the first time in many years. painting seriously, anyhow. there was something else i was going to say, but i don't remember what. my fingers are crusted in orange and white acrylic and i am smiling like a fool. painting away my nightmares. something about painting serves as an exorcism. in film i can live my dreams, but i cannot escape them. in painting, i make them dead, flat and false.



i am distressed at my poor memory, i don't remember anything that i ought. and i remember things that i oughtn't. i have felt happier lately, though. like my shell of self is not a shell anymore.