We are in search of our girls. They float in places watching over us to find them. A God’s finger searches the over world and under. No simple answers are the truths. The leftovers are the sisters, brothers, friends. mothers, fathers and families. The lost stars of DC, we are always in search of you. And to the stars still in the sky watching and wondering, we will protect you with all that we are. 
Category: Mind of deep crazy
Painter files Podcast ep 27
this should be my book cover.
A duffel bag of lives
woke up drowning…
The salt in my lungs, I am left wanting. It is the paint peeling I need to fix on my washroom. It is the in the pink sound of an ice cub being razor shaved. Can’t get it out of all the parts and pieces of my mind.
When a true wave hits you in the face and flicks you at the beach you’re kind of done with anything ever stopping you from your life goals. You stand up, wipe your eyes and swim around the big wave to reach what you need or go over or under.
I see now I need to treat fear made by social media the same way. I need to get stronger about swimming past it. I’m not perceptive to the algorithms and to be honest I want the sales from it not to be famous for them for the speck starlight they give you. I get older and remember Myspace fondly but I recall it didn’t equal out to a hill of beans when it died.
Gotta be the change.
Painter Files: Muchness
Error
This video doesn’t exist
Jackie has this really fun smile. She smiles with her eyes first and then her mouth. I’m so proud to paint her.
I’m also working on V Day cards.
https://society6.com/product/just-the-2-of-us1052259_cards?sku=s6-8566129p22a16v71
no lifeguard
got no time to be your lifeguard.
Drowning used to be my game in the dark nights. The Silver Fish danced to the blindspots only to kiss a finger as I slept on an old futton. The bed was too good for a soul with stains like mine. Sad daddies of children with no birthdays. I see the baby hairs in the corners of my eyes as I sit in empty rooms dreaming of clicks and emails. I can’t be a lifeguard, I’ve been swimming me entire life in lakes made of Milo. West India of the Western world calls out to me.
“B da truff,” is the voice of the wind. I found her name in the sleep at the edge of my inner eyes. She is hard but soft, kind but stern and alive and yet never born.
Madness in the paint drops.
Painter Files Podcast ep 25
The artists in random order.
Dali
Frida Kahlo
Toyin Odutola
Basquait
Music by Japanese Breakfast -Road Head
tips
I'm glad you enjoy the podcast and if you like you are welcome to leave a tip.
$1.00
Mars the phenomenal
A million moments in one night.
Friends of friends of friends of lovers. The empty is the moment the bag hits the floor and the door closes to the night. Hard pressed to see more than the seconds of running, smiling and the little deaths. Teens on Halloween, the parties, the drugs, the troubles and the makeup on banisters. Midsize red and white finger paint on lips and clothings.
Her smirk is the open books that say everything and then nothing all at once. Her costume is the run on sentence of the mind’s eye.
Mars the phenomenal.
Little of me remembers that years smells but the touch of the cold on the tops of my arms is an unshakeable souls shiver. The parts that make all I run into mentally a cliff edge.
Long live the hearts.
Little Littles of muchness
Taste like poison, deep and rich. The dark matter matters as the only air I feel is the fan on my face. The skies little kisses splashing on praying eyes. Avalon is a dream and we are all but dreamers. Fire crawling up my temples and no end in sight. The feet roll up inside the welcome mat as the covers buried the man to young to remember his passwords to the WIFI. His sleep will take all his secrets until morning. No one soul is everything and no one soul is nothing.
A kingdom of paper plates. A jungle of unknown wealth jumbled in red, green, yellow and blue holiday lights. Forgotten in the dreams of liquid lucid lopsided lovers of all things dreams.
Bury me down by the river so as the Earth eats me I feed the children with the fruits of Summer. It’s all a thumbprint on a glass spiderweb.
Remember to forget the things that give you pain and eat the things that bring you your reflections of you feels. They become parts of pieces of all the little littles that inspire you.
PAinter Files – Deep makings
Error
This video doesn’t exist
The places we go
A week of making,
Deep and true and fearful. The honest parts of me know the outcome is no bigger than a grain of sand to the world but I am a grain of sand so it is my world. In search of my next masterpiece and I do not know anything to begin and build a new universe with.
Wishing wells of all the parts that made me grow into the creative heartbeat. Cocoa butter for the tips and tops of feet and elbows to pull me back to the first time I ever lifted a brush as a youth. Whine and beer to remind my self that I can be limitless as I slow and speed up time; traveling on and bending space with colors.
Where ever I go the art is playing in the background; in the corners of my eyes. Forever a trickster to steal me from all other tasks. Making and making and making.
Next stop Painter Files Podcast.
jaws_blake 