witoldriedel.com
Catalogue | Souvenirs | E-mail | Links
«more plants and things. | Front | not crazy about that void. »

April 11, 2006
once there was the understanding that the personality was of the addictive kind, one only had to make sure the addictions were to the right things. addiction to air, for example, was a good one. addiction to beauty? great as well. though he had to be careful to fall for the right kind of beauty. it should be the one that was tangible and could flow through him, not the one that was purely created by projections inside of him. made from foul things... maybe it was okay after all? as long as something turned out good. somewhere. flowing glowing throwing knowing. the steam pushes its way through the tiny openings of the vents on the silver radiators near the windows facing the front where dogs just had an argument about the order in which to cross the street while a honking car turned the corner onto 7th avenue. the birds are hungry today. and i have not slept enough to run out and get new food. i stood by the window this morning and looked for what seemed to be several minutes at the curious head of a young blue jay who would have loved to tear me into pieces, were i only a tiny bit smaller. than him. addictions can be good, as long as they are to the right things. walking is a good one, listening can be healthy too. addiction to drawing is fantastic, though is probably should not be replaced by addiction to drawings. addiction to creation can be really good, as things sometimes get better when done over and over and over again with some thought. addiction to thinking is good too? I think? I am not quite sure though. I think i went cold turkey on this one a little while ago. flow glow throw crow drowning thoughts is not a good idea, i guess. drawning drowings maybe is. not drowning drawings, of course. addiction to time. or maybe they are all not addictions, maybe they are just a healthy appetite. a petite pet ite. somebody is calling me at the back. i will need to run out after all. why is it always so late?