paint.

white paintings again.
nothing makes me happy.

i like saying that, it always makes me smile a little.

soft grey, softer softer softer taking back the slight grey blue, less and less, glazing over with more white until only this tiny radiant shadow of colour remains on the canvas, but the radiance is from what i took away, stripped back, strip it back, more and more and more, give it detail through nothing. give it substance through nothing.

i am drinking tea, and the scent fills the room. mr tumbles is sprinting around the room in circles, leaping in the air. i am wiping out colour, and the oil pain smell is heavy in the room and it takes me home, outside of a geographic state.

the tea is called monk.

i sit in the apartment in an ill fitting singlet. it is lime green, and it barely covers an inch, my magenta, cheapshit bra showing, pink underwear bright as well. all these colours, all these colours, it makes me pale.