I am an animal, panting in the heatwind of my home. We have signs enough; signs to speak love, happiness, eternal sadness, loss, goodness, compassion, let’s get a burrito, all compact within the inner sanctum of words lost and never thought. We are compiled of ancient symbols. An open mouth to tell of nostalgia and bittersweet anxiety happy. A closed palm to indicate dedicated resignation, past the point of logic. What happens when we are grounded in the moment? Does it become unbearable to lose and give? I don’t think so but I’m not the expert.
Grandiloquent. For ever panting and for ever young.
Email:
archrisman@gmail.com
J’aime votre art. C’est votre existence et la fin du mien.
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