Bleed it out sister,
paint with intent of crimson smother,
the canvas of the world,
with the pits of you until they recognise,
they’re mad for wanting to numb themselves,
define by defying themselves.
whilst your fingers still ache,
for the brush’s skin wrapped with pine and agar.
Know you’re living is a lie,
if you let it linger any longer.
Find your audience in what pains normality,
of the oxygen of civility.
I hope you can tell,
in this half wake,
I dreamt these words,
like my beloved Dali drops his spoons.
I often write best when in semi states of wakefulness and sleep,
ironic that one of my most beloved artists is Salvador Dali and this is the first thing that came to mind when a friend showed me her past, revealing to me what she has buried inside her.
This, I hope is enough a tribute to inspire her to make her take to the brush again with the skill of a swordsman. I want her to cut flesh, and make them wag their pompous noses in the air, pretentious fools pretending to know the inner workings of artists.
Paint Dani… fuck it all, just paint.