Always already begun

Starting a blog in the middle of brain fog feels intimidating – I am more aware of the gap than the meaning.

Before my first friend died, I made more art than music (pencil to paper is a line uninterruptible, it seemed?) and sharing

Both the act of making and the image itself felt like a safer world to the spidery lines of speech, liable to drift

the sketchbook can be closed, the subtext implied – hidden even to one?s self. Only later did I see myself in some of these. (The masks, the discomfort)

the action became all – shoulders hunched – implement in hard, the pressure of each nib, brush, stick immeasureably different – the world meeting the line offering itself in differnetiated softness.

(Computers make my hands itch with their ))P))) - litt little keys – I can,t find the word and this nneds FINISHING)

But we don?t really finish and we don’t really start– we are already begun

Nearly fifteen years ago (highlighted) I was already saying the right words, the ones I need now.

And I had totally forgotten the Grotesquerie museum in Philadelphia with Matt Rigilano in 2006. on my birthday I think?

*Perhaps one day i will make them legible for you – or is it your role to decipher?