Hell

When time is done, and we are left with the cess of life
the apricot skin peels and appals me
and wonders cease to amaze
is the dawn a day reborn or just a crack in an old past

fortune standing before a dreamlike figure

I shake, broken down and faint with torment
a shadow of myself, no glimmer in an eye
a face purged and bloodless
the clock ticking with complexion
numbers round and swollen as the hands stray lost on a dial
black now the pupils
nothing in the view
the cat purrs and my hands are sombre now
is that you, I say it quickly
we are in hell

its true

I have come to the conclusion that the general public do not know anything about my paintings . They know about the history of art ..It appears to me that all paintings are judged on other painter's work ...If we dont adhere to their prescribed methods we are marked down .. I am aware that my paintings are unlike what is usual in painting, but they are my experiences in life, and they cannot match other people's painting subjects and I no longer want to study art technique ..

 

Psychology is an odd disorder of the human race, used to distinguish what they call moral weakness, they attempt a sense of reason as a protective field about themselves ..usually in the hands of the so called intelligent, those that assume more control due to a memory span larger than another,  just a measure thought over others, as a chess player does or a sportsman ..its a mask of no reality in life , just words and deeds done to lock out someone they dont like . It reconciles the weak and dismisses the competition... its a quest for unification,  for control,  using  the strong to act for them in their lack of power... we live we die, nothing else is of any significance ..psychology simply serves as pain relief.