


My right eye above
left below Not blind enough
yet to stop screaming
I glue these back to back, one object with two rotating sides (so eight awoogahexes), this is the other side of the previous awoogahex
Excrutiating,
waiting for saturated
cold press block to dry
Exasperating
warping then saturated
happy accidents
I claim my idea
Bliss. I’ve three canvases sop
pingwet, teaching my
self blue so I can
teach myself green, awooga
my cataclysmic
pacifier, boop, thumb
in my canary elbow
of weathervane an
kle of cassandra
merkin of fool. Digit
al type while gouache dries
The other side of the below
It doesn’t occur
to me to write poetry
when I can paint. I
bliss watching paint dry:
shit will never be better
than wettest. I
see me finger-painting
ten-thirty to eleven
every other week
Saturdays struggling
to remember my name. I’m
not writing but should
Last night the first time in seventeen days I typed in digital tablet. I write daily in analog tablet but what I write in analog tablet I never commit to any self-surveillance programs on any of my self-surveillance devices. As long as I burn all fifty years of analog tablets scattered in boxes in my bedroom and basement and work office and carrel five minutes before the bus I didn’t know will hit me hits me my secrets are safe
Driving to Michigan April Fools Day for a week with our daughter and son-in-law. Packed no paint, no canvases, I can’t paint on vacations, no time, no privacy, no urge, no point worrying what to bring, what not, to not paint
If I take no paint and canvases to Michigan and want to paint I can blame me for not taking paint and canvases to Michigan, deem this a failed experiment, pack them for Maine this July, end up pissed at me not painting when I packed paint and canvases for Maine this July
Above, what my right eye sees, below, my left