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(Sasha)
The question of existence visits me quite often. Like a muse, it lingers around infuriating currents of thoughts, they weave around each other, contradicting and agreeing, urging me to create. How can I ignore their persuasive requests? To deny them would drive me mad.
Erratic images clutter my psyche, ready to be spilled out contumaciously. My beautiful and cruel muse possesses me; it utterly controls my mind now.
I am in limbo of a dream. Or did I just wander into a different realm? Nothing exists any longer but brushes filled with color, shapes, figures, lines... All that was brewing inside, flowing steadily onto the canvases. Colors and shapes, figures and lines... Images whose origin I don't want to know. All is magically coming to a crescendo in front of my very eyes.
I feel released. I am ready to wake up. My amazing, brilliant Muse smiles its' mischievous smile, "I will see you again very soon."
"What is it?," you say, "This is not real!"
"Well," I reply," then what is?"
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(DARRINWHITE)
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(DARRINWHITE)
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