We work in the dark. 
We do what we can.
We give what we have.
Our doubt is our passion.
Our passion is our task.
The rest is the madness of art.
-

Henry James

 
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"A complicated, romantic thing involving paper scraps, stringed instruments and phases of the moon"
« the thought wears me down til I sleep the sleep of fever | Main | The Life and Opinions of the Novel »
Monday
Aug062012

streets are painted yellow, bread was heavier than the stereo

DateAug 6, 2012

  digitally color treated found images
 
 
- -

your eyes were still as blue as any bruise
and sometimes I get the feeling, friend
theres nothing I can lose

search the sky outside your window
thirsty rain is falling back
and it looks like it could last

but it could pass


 

 

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