Yesterday I went to the Stedelijk Museum and saw some artworks of great artists. I immediately wanted to go to my studio to make some great artworks. Make second sentences to dip my hair my head my eyebrows in oily oilpaint my hand rubbing and going round and round and round all over over all over my skull while reading this absolute genius novel in verse. thinking. do not go do not go please stay inside these sentences. How the people are called, lying in wait.
I cut my own hair very short now my ears are showing. That is the best part, I very much like my ears they are big and fabulous. It’s Saturday late afternoon and my mood is sinking deep. I need not be too dramatic just a tiny bit. About tiny my trousers are lately gigantic huge, held up by a single leather belt they are happy not to feel huge myself in them, that I keep on being my own self. Stop. Now I am starting with drama all together ever the same alla…alla. Keep reading the ‘my’ books like the ones by Jón Kalman Stefánsson: Summerlight, and then the night comes. My former galerist sent me a message about a dream she had in which she angry with me because I didn’t dare to show myself, hiding under thick layers of paint, thicker and thicker. I told her that I was feeling honored, being in her dream and that I thought it a sign of caring. And that I was ever so comfortable in my thick layers of paint without any anecdote bothering me myself and my painting. Have a nice trip. See you later. My hair will be longer.
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