Painter Files Podcast ep 35

The names in my podcast where :

James Victore

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Nicole Dennett

https://www.instagram.com/nicolejanelle/?hl=en

Hannah Cherry

https://www.instagram.com/looks_that_kale/?hl=en

Augusten Burroughs

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Kelly King

Unknown

My works I’m in the mind of.

Special thanks to James Baldwin

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A labyrinth​ of parts

I grew up not in a place but at an age. There wasn’t a crazy amount of time to be just a kid. A none stop fight living in The South. Little curly haired Afro-Latino kids are meat for the grinder. Good people held my hands with tear filled eyes. I’m telling you this not as a sad story but as a warning that this shit stops this generation. Voćes, fala sério? We are here and never going away and so we are you and you us. No one but maybe a few of us chooses to be a place as children. We are luggage for our galera. We live in their shadows. Where the sun hits them we are behind them or to the side. It’s important to know we are all shadows at one time or another. Tigre this is the same life repeated. Un clavo saco otro clavo! Being divided is not the future. Teach art and you teach love. Art has this great part to it because you meet the art before the artists. All the ignorance in the world can’t make you hate the colors of the skies.

Teach art not hate Tigre.

Painter files podcast ep 28

always making

Painter files Podcast ep 27

PPFthis should be my book cover.

Painter Files Podcast ep 25

 

 

The artists in random order.

Dali

Frida Kahlo

Toyin Odutola

Basquait

Music by Japanese Breakfast -Road Head

 

tips

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$1.00

https://www.patreon.com/JawaraBlake

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.

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