The Painter Paints

Skyball the endless highway, holy stocking-top sunrise, doctor ricochet live and otherwise, the rip-off, the kiss-off, neutral density: blue is blue and I am too. Clouds harden

Somewhere else, files deleted reappear, reassigned, mouse-handed cat burglar booty, raw material ahead of blade and edit, an impact shine at the black/silver interface, mountain-textured, ice-burned… beautiful

The painter paints and the writer writes
What will you do, what will you do?
The painter paints and the writer writes
What will you do tonight?

Hanging on and standing alone, beyond salvation, beyond standard procedure, with the jagged loops and loopholes closing up, we are living defining moments in stupidity, ego-powered, transient

In the give and take and borrow, when accountability is forgotten or futile, the degradation of detail is not only likely but is likely to be desirable: decay is a feasible strategy

The painter paints and the writer writes
What will you do, what will you do?
The painter paints and the writer writes
What will you do tonight?

Alternatively, we advance through memory and moonbeams, past malevolence and moodswings, to a state of continuous unreasonable excitement, vibrant, untenable and momentous

So follow, follow, follow the lonely, lowly, lovely cowboy wandering thoughtless into the supermarket supermodel sunset. The painter paints and the writer writes: what will you do tonight?

The painter paints and the writer writes
What will you do, what will you do?
The painter paints and the writer writes
What will you do tonight?