(no subject)
My paintings are due in a week. Today I looked on at them feelin' dull. Fucked em up some felt generic. I know it is strong work, but I am waiting prematurely for the moment I realize how blind I was. It's not just that What of all this. When am I a satire and when am I a sincere, liking both. Sincere satire, tie it together or Not disparate enough, in my head it's all my hand. The surpise difficulty in being willing to make the best of the paintings I can make right now Instead of I want to make the best paintings I can make. The surprise difficulty in the difference between lazy, bombastic, unready
A lot of things are at the edge of the table right now. I don't know if I'm staying summer anymore, I don't know about New Haven. I saw all those cops at the train tracks in the dark. I let somebody kiss me while I thought about kissing someone else. I put off my book project. I jittered in the pizza restaurant, wearing heavy shoes and looking back and forth between stern stares. I started smoking again last night when my feet got wet and I still had to walk ten blocks home.
A lot of things are at the edge of the table right now. I don't know if I'm staying summer anymore, I don't know about New Haven. I saw all those cops at the train tracks in the dark. I let somebody kiss me while I thought about kissing someone else. I put off my book project. I jittered in the pizza restaurant, wearing heavy shoes and looking back and forth between stern stares. I started smoking again last night when my feet got wet and I still had to walk ten blocks home.