August 1, 2004


  • ~a part of yesterday~


    Paint is no more than its pigment: colored dirt.


    In my heyday, I could paint 40 feet up at the very last rung of a ladder while simultaneously swinging two 4-inch brushes, slapping and knocking out boards with ferociously speedy abandon, all the while bracing myself by only pressing my thighs against the outer ladder frame.  I felt like a 'dirt conductor' of a great pigment orchestra back then.  But it was hard on the brushes: they wore out before their time.


    What the hell is a 'heyday' anyway?  Such notions seem well beyond re-comprehension,  though maybe it's just my mood.  Today, I'd rather wander into a certain little farming community, find a barn, and have a hayday...with a friend.

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