Hung hewn meat, colorful bodies, people who spend and get spent. ROUTINE is not an odd word. When I walk out of the door, colorful images take shape in my mind. Realities that exist whether or not i want them. A soulless atmosphere which we have to accept.
It is not black but it freezes us. In order to bear this pain, I embellish my surroundings to the point that this nonsense joy envelopes and suffuses me. A repetitive, constant but colorful shape that I have believed.