Isn't it peculiar that no matter how many times you start over, you end up in the same place you were at the beginning? This is me, a metaphor. An arrow, to be more precise, which is like the eleata one: it stays in the same position all the time, making no progress whatsoever. It makes absolutely no movement, it stays intact and static. No flow, no forward or onward movement toward any destination; this is me. I crave change so bad, it drives me crazy, eats me up (alive), etc etc, same old (not so radical) clichés and banalities.
ps. I love drawing. You may already know this fact about me. You may not. The world is an eerie place, you little bird. Somebody thundered the bell/ it has a rich, raw sound/ a bird is ascending/ a horse neighs like a woman's shriek/ azure fire and cobalt blaze of the winter noon/ a cuboid is bleeding.
photo:mine
