I don’t know why, what it is, there is just something about this that always stops me— is it the industrial realism? it’s bald, raw simplicity? —and yet, it is the vines that always draws me here; I like how well the shapes of the leaves look like hearts crawling up cold walls like arms of embrace that colors with its photosynthesis the lifeless stony-ness under its complimentary shade to soften the stark edges away ….the corrupt twin tanks become decorative like Grecian vases and as I sink into my quiet artistic shyness thinking I disappear among the streets behind the length of hair —someone calls out to me, “I love your hair! It’s so pretty!” And realize, the longer it grows the more I stand out….but I say thank you. And think more about the industrial ….feeling ….seeing Thackary on the shelf when I was searching for ….and bumping into my name everywhere next to ….the outside me —the inside me ….only some ever get past or let ….into ….This wall is my great muse —it may symbolize more than just one of my many walls but joint —or an opening to A Way to Escape Our False World
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