instantaneous pictures. Now I don't know why, but they seem important to me. I just want to touch the paper and see them happen. And once in a while they do. But more often I've gotta go back and do a few little corrections to them.
And even then. Or maybe no matter what. But anyway, when I get done for the day, a bunch of hours will be crumpled up, thrown in the trash. I never quite know how. I'm not sure what happens.
Or why. I don't know. It just does. Especially if I start writing in them. It seems like its just a note.
Maybe it's just one thick one or something like that. I must pause. Then freeze. Then there it comes. Slowly drying while I watch. Me and the paper.
Or maybe it's the layers.
Or picking out a piece of paper. Trying it.
Or making a cup of coffee. Or both.
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