Let’s spend the day together.
Let’s visit these spaces.
Where visions precede words.
I dream of my mind as a canvas, a canvas that illuminates the colors, a canvas that does not erase, does not filter, does not correct. This canvas an endless space of images, thoughts, feelings that are watered, that are listened to. They sprout, their roots grow wildly, every direction.
The canvas is not just pretty. There are dark images, dark things. They are awful, disgusting. They hate, they want to kill. They move sharply, they have weight, density that crushes.
I dream of full strokes. Whether of beauty or horror; they are full. They are true.
How sad is one who has no words for what festers in the soul. How sad is one who has no medium, no canvas to paint. We are creatures who must paint.
We must paint before we know what it is we will create.
How can I have eyes to see another’s canvas if mine is so tightly constrained, with only pretty pictures with half of a life to them?
Slow down the space.
Where visions precede words.
It is here.
Visions are painted.
Without the voices of fear.
Visions before words.
Are the purest form of life.
