Storm approaching. I can't protect my family. I don't know what to say to old friends I no longer love. I want to be able to drive, and get into my car and drive into the hills. I want to write good stories. I want to live somewhere flooded with daylight. Surrounded by grass.
I am painting on a dark ground, today. Burnt umber, layered and layered with purplish red-black. I am working on a story, another one about that thin, burning fear that threads its way through my days. God damn it. Please rain.