Wednesday, April 3, 2013

my limits

The background of my life, the backdrop I perform before, is discerned piecemeal. Or I might say that it is a drop cloth covered with paint. Or an empty bbq potato chip bag. 

A stave of sheet music, filled in by my random notes and rhythms. 


I need more of these white cotton shirts. Other shirts, I'm afraid try to say something.

Perhaps that is behind Ryman's white paintings - the holding back from saying anything, the reluctance to shed secrets of the soul with speech.

Hearing about the Mississippi Gulf Outlet (Mr Go) I imagined a fellow, a dapper nere do well. Because when the locals talk about it, they say Mr Go this and that - I didn't realize they were talking about a thing and not a person.

Pots and pans in Mama's kitchen seen from the street.

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