My Blood Is A Miracle

I Am Not Sick. I Am Broken. But I Am Happy As Long As I Can Paint.

Take A Lover Who Looks At You Like Maybe You Are A Bourbon Biscuit.

I Wish I Could Do Whatever I Liked Behind The Curtain Of “madness”. Then: I’d Arrange Flowers, All Day Long, I’d Paint; Pain, Love And Tenderness, I Would Laugh As Much As I Feel Like At The Stupidity Of Others, And They Would All Say: “poor Thing, She’s Crazy!” (above All I Would Laugh At My Own Stupidity.) I Would Build My World Which While I Lived, Would Be In Agreement With All The Worlds. The Day, Or The Hour, Or The Minute That I Lived Would Be Mine And Everyone Else’s - My Madness Would Not Be An Escape From “reality”.

I Must Fight With All My Strength So That The Little Positive Things That My Health Allows Me To Do Might Be Pointed Toward Helping The Revolution. The Only Real Reason For Living.

My Painting Carries With It The Message Of Pain.