I've been wanting to know a lot more, a lot more about the what I see and wanted to think but never got around to, is what the desert reminded me of.

Why is the green cavern the one most dimly lit?

Still it falls up hard and plagues me. I, I haven't gotten around to it just yet, I have become a nod and a shake. No structure follows to embrace the ugly flows. I live in fragments I am trying to build some image of mental fortitude: must I fight? What is the labor of my wildest dreams, and what bundle of lacks does it heft over my way?

JOURNAL / SKETCH SPACE

to break before the great Coming: this I feared would not get to the point.

Dear, may I have your hand in singing a fine song?

and Dear, may you pass the cabbage over in my direction?

Dear.

I wait.

A project this long must not seek a defined end or beginning. I run to the edge for one more place, to seek solitude. This brown carpet off-gassing in a room with circular tables.