Red

I am going to get really cozy with the colors, couleurs, colores (‘damn immigrants’, the world is made up of migrators)- I am erasing the old stuff I had in the basement, writing over it with brand new perfection. Perfection I am thinking now, however, once the muscle masses decide to revolt against the monarch that is my brain, all notions of perfections will become relative to ‘good enough’. This impulsive act has been planned for fortnights of eons (I wonder if I can actually multiply time, whatever); the picture of MY faultless lair has danced in MY head on more occasions than I care to admit, and every time, a new piece of subtlety gets to see the light. It is high time (I’ll have to air out this thing so that I don’t actually ‘get high’) I move beyond the probable, and create the tangible.