Empty Arms, Empty Thighs - Borderline Discontent
Something isn’t right. My work says what I cannot put into words. I wish I didn’t have to speak or write sometimes and I could just go around showing pictures for everything I felt and wanted to say.
I am a reasonable, rational person. I try not to live in a dream. I try to understand. I try, I try, I try. And as I read in Karen Finley’s A Different Kind of Intimacy today:
Silence at the end of the phone
Silence at the end of the phone
Silence at the end of the phone
I wish all I needed was cryptic poetry and pictures and I could somehow make it through the day without being broken. Yes, it is a bad time. But it is supposed to be a good time. So I don’t know what to make of anything. However, you can look at more of my recent pictures (as opposed to words) here. Good luck with that.
This is borderline discontent.
art ka pakistan 