I had to explain to her,
I'm cultivating an internal environment
I'm freeing myself up to the twisted
and devious places in mind and soul
and I need the deranged .
I've been repressing it all this time.
I haven't written in years, really.
I haven't let chaos do its thing.
I have to explain to my friends
I'm cultivating an internal enviornment
where fucked up things always happen
where nothing is simple by virtue
of being complex and full of pattern.
This is a field of space.
This is where creativity thrives.
This is not health, this is disaster.
This is pigment and oil mixing together
creating a richness of depth like a ritual
of death. I have to explain.
I have to disrespect it.
