#painter thoughts

Looking in this empty pickle jar full of watercolor water I see the ideas of brilliant literary minds. All the great works of Kurt Vonnegut live in the clouds swirling in a water. I hear it like it were books on tape.  Makes me ponder the last time I read Slaughter House 5? The weird language and the old man humor aging me in my mind like hard candy. I remember a time I painted in the dark mostly with only a desk lamp and bad backlighting from street lights. it was shot but it was my shit to ender. I cranked a window so I didn't choke to death on fumes. Saw romance in the idea of dying for the brush strokes. INsane, I know but my twenties were a lot of me trying to self-destruct. I like to think the ability to see past my fingers and toes. The weird ways I would fall out of love with passions was like a fickled cat on a table batting at dust in the air. Maybe that is why I love cats. Narcissism is a bitch.