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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
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More in ergo sum hominus 2. pingoi paint
burnt umber smudges the edges of desert landscape ultramarine blue, mixes and we are neutral for a moment grit colors ground teeth and the open wound of sunrise as night becomes the underpainting the last gray dries away tears and the rest of bastard emotion. sunlight becomes the largest brush i blur the world long down long up bristles drag me across the canvas.  Alcuin of York - I like very much the last strophe – everything related to the ‘brush’ metaphor. The only dislike I have is one of personal taste - the dark emotions expressed in what should be art – something with a joyful passion instead of a depressed intensity. Alcuin |
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