Feet, What Do I Need You For

Your Word Travels The Entirety Of Space And Reaches My Cells Which Are My Stars Then Goes To Yours Which Are My Light.

No Moon, Sun, Diamond, Hands — Fingertip, Dot, Ray, Gauze, Sea. Pine Green, Pink Glass, Eye, Mine, Eraser, Mud, Mother, I Am Coming.

Pain, Pleasure And Death Are No More Than A Process For Existence. The Revolutionary Struggle In This Process Is A Doorway Open To Intelligence

My Paintings Are Well-painted, Not Nimbly But Patiently. My Painting Contains In It The Message Of Pain. I Think That At Least A Few People Are Interested In It. It's Not Revolutionary. Why Keep Wishing For It To Be Belligerent? I Can't. Painting Completed My Life. I Lost Three Children And A Series Of Other Things That Would Have Fulfilled My Horrible Life. My Painting Took The Place Of All Of This. I Think Work Is The Best.

There Is Nothing More Precious Than Laughter