Slow decay in RVA
We are impossible living creatures, impossibly alive, of whom neither the time of the body, nor the investment by space are any more to be retained than the shades of evening or the beloved face, and painting quite simply a destiny, which is to paint where there is nothing to paint, nothing to paint with, and without knowing how to paint, and without wanting to paint, and all this in such a way that something comes of it.
Albert, you sexy beast!
If I could drag myself down to the sea! I’d make me a pillow of sand for my head and the tide would come.
For a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life.
But there was always some obstacle in the way.
Something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business,
Then life would begin.
At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees