I dont know why I watch the moon rise, suspended here from smoke and sparks, as it floats and glows through cypress and palm silhouettes. I dont know why I cleave to its slow gloating glory as it gathers itself in mists and bounty. I dont recognize that terrible tone that accompanies it, the blather of myth, the chatter of hunger. I dont know the cause of these brutal longings, the tip-toeing of a bruised and weathered heart. Bound to the ground and the shadows, this perverse sense of wonder, the calm of wander, the pull of distance as of yet unfettered, I feel the pack track a-shamble. I feel the trail disappear, murdered by a childs promise. That lonesome trace of the divine.
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well i guess i have absolutly no tecnique, but somehow managed to get good result in school, is just that is not only the tecnique what's it's needed. and also that for years now painiitng and drawing are kinda old fashioned. i just spend my time in there doing other stuff instead
take care mister good luck on everything