(no subject)
"and my head begins to pulse with the most beautifully excrutiating pain so i grab the pen that's connected to my soul and let it bleed out on to the page. i didn't need it anyway, wasn't doing me much good. everything becomes a rush of senses; cherry pinks and swirls. there's a tighness in my chest and a tickle in a hidden place. a smile cracks open my face and a lazy hum leeks out. the picture to follow was grotesque in a brilliant way. damn, i'm an artist i tell myself, and take another sip from the bottle or robitossin. i was on pins and needles but now i know. the portrait drips with black ink that s spreading allover my hands. i brush my hair back form my face covering it in my soulful ink and making my face into a sticky luscious mess. i should do this more often." --M.J.M.