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Still the quagmire, and its not even the sort that Virgil and Mephystophyles could glamourise or, indeed, Dante scourge for a gag.
Last night I I finally did a BLINDING piece of work, then proceeded to ruin it...it wasn't quite right, quite good enough...
The semi-obliterated canvas is testimony to this SELF-destructive jag I can't shake out of.
Its seeping into every other aspect about me.
This is not self-loathing; nope, its far too horrendously circumspect, too COLD for that!
Cold, like congealed grease in Withnail's cafe.
(and no, digging that old film out to watch is not an option, its back to that bloody canvas.)
Last night I I finally did a BLINDING piece of work, then proceeded to ruin it...it wasn't quite right, quite good enough...
The semi-obliterated canvas is testimony to this SELF-destructive jag I can't shake out of.
Its seeping into every other aspect about me.
This is not self-loathing; nope, its far too horrendously circumspect, too COLD for that!
Cold, like congealed grease in Withnail's cafe.
(and no, digging that old film out to watch is not an option, its back to that bloody canvas.)
