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Artist (abstract) Statement, process prose lullaby

Search party for one; fluid into the night, flexibly concise communication. “Ha! Not here.” Stringing broken sentences into crafty idioms and lofty assertions. The ghost sentences and dead-end or two, birth a new essay. Now, as I re-read my fragmented odyssey, I stop just before I push delete. “Wait!” Soak in the moment. Now freeze frame, a snapshot, a ‘fly on the wall’ realization of myself.

Closer inspection is due. I am pink like a Greek letter drunk romantic; optimistic, but not so green that I might end up blue. I often throw caution to the wind and then plunge head-first into my heart’s own end. Clumsily modest, an introspective pessimist crushing on Optimism’s best friend. A string of words, a line in a bar. A kaleidoscope of emotion translated through color and pattern. Time becomes texture and connection takes shape. Before memory melts, vibration as picture book; in burnt dark edges, I find a muse. And then simulate, where words couldn’t communicate.

Hmmmm, just had to get that out, or something.

Tell me it’s garbage.

…maybe then I’ll respect you more.
You say it’s great, but I know better.
I don’t mean to say that in a degrading manner;
I mean it truthfully, for I do know better.
I have seen better,
I strive for better.
So please, do not tell me, “It’s great.”

If you do, then I’ll know,
you are lying through your false coffin teeth.
Or what’s worse, an uneducated rat.
It’s as simple as that.
So do not tell me, “It’s great.”

To this, I must implore
it’s not great; it’s not the Great Barrier Reef.
It’s on a scale and so are you.
Your opinion is losing weight
…with me, so please,
do not tell me, “It’s great.”

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