I hate the fucking flu.
Three weeks now of slowly rotting on the sofa pulling enough of myself together to get to my doctors. I almost went second stage, ie: pneumonia. Not good. So I've busied my self with composing paintings in my head. Six so far, two of which I've practically fainting to do. But that could just be the drugs. I'm beginning to think that if I was forced to never, ever make pictures again I'd slowly suck up into my head and kill myself.
Another bit: I must have pressed a wrong button somewhere and deleted all my saved addresses from the web mail I get here. So, i you've written to me about something and I haven't written back, blame my creeping technophobia. Sod it, I'm sorry.
One more bit: I'm planning to finally finish the tattoos on my left arm into a finished piece. That is, if the artist I want to work with ever writes back. All our lives seemed to run by day planners.
Yet another: today is the day there has been sunshine since I came down with the plague. Things just get better all the time. I should have been an urologist.
And yet again: I'm burning all my old canvases tomorrow. I hate the sight of them. It's my party and the quest list is crap.
One last thing, and promise to go away: when I'm reasonably lucid, I'm plotting and researching my next book. This has lead my to finally come to terms with my birth in Louisiana and it's culture. Still wouldn't want to live there, but I'd visit in winter sometime. "native son returns" and all that.
There.....all(most) all off my chest, which hurts right now, but not as much as a week ago.
So, Pierre, if you're reading this by chance, send more Gauloises, PLEASE I'm back to work Monday and I owe you big time my friend.
I DON'T BELIEVE IN FLU SHOTS.....it's a paranoia thing.
Loveliness to all....