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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Cabeza de garbage
Much later in the day, no? We have been home from the studio for a couple of hours; M. is now asleep. I am up drinking the last of my daily 128oz. of water before retiring (though I'm sure I'll be up in the night to piss away some of these last 32oz.). The cats are wandering around the house, bored. There is some Beethoven on the CD player that M. put in before going to bed. It's rather cold in the house, though we have some nice warm down comforters and flannel duvets (thanks, MM) to snuggle under. Thank god! The water's gone! Now the waiting begins. I've been online looking at diaries. I've almost convinced M. to start one, though I don't think he'll really follow through with it, as he is hyper-afraid of exposure. I guess I am too, but none of my friends are really online addicts, nor would they necessarily recognize themselves in this (except for MayFlower, who would have a fit if she knew I was putting her life online, so I guess it's not fair of me to do so, though it's not fair of her to use her life to torture me, so turnabout and fairplay and all that shit). What was I talking about? Oh, yeah, Max. Tonight at the studio was fairly quiet. I did a few carvings, glazed several things, painted some, and read some books that are laying (lying?) around the office while I waited for M. to finish up. I've been less interested in the studio lately. I've kind of been not too keen on building things, though I have some ideas for sculptures of heads. (Does that sound strange or what?) I've been making miniature heads recently, but I want to build some larger heads to place around the garden. You know. Heads. In the garden.
More lies:
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