somewhere along the way visual journal no. 13 stopped being a visual journal and started becoming a field of white that i can squirt paint onto. i hardly ever write in it. i hardly ever finish anything. i hardly ever do anything in it except experiment with color. it's crude. it's random. it's happy-making.
i hate to be so nauseatingly cheerful about my sabbatical, but the truth is i feel HIGH most of the time. i sit in the warm sun. i read. i pet catboy & catgirl. i talk to the racoons who visit my back patio. i entertain thoughts of never ever being a working stiff again. for shite's sake i'm reading abraham. lincoln. vampire. hunter. i haven't started speaking in tongues yet. but that doesn't feel far off. stick with me. this is all going somewhere. i think.