it's so slooooooooow.
at work, i mean.
time itself is racing by,
days turn to weeks turn to years,
and it's been happening faster and faster every moment.
but,
at the tattoo studio,
time all but stops.
if it wasn't for motormouthing my constant consonants
and indefatigable syllables an' that,
i think i'd become trapped forever and ever and ever
between rocks and hard-styled places,
immovable and immutable and immemorial.
ugh.
instead, though, duders,
i'm making coarse pictures,
with ratty-tipped blunted marky-markers.
it's true.
it helps to make something not THAT busted
out of all the castoffs and throwaways laying around.
i'm not saying it's a bunch of masterful magnum magic,
but it doesn't exactly suck either.
check the doing-what-i-do-type teleport:
more of all of it.
more often than i'd like to have time for.
one shot freehandy formulaic flora,
and skulls...
because skull are expert.
that's real.
this is the way i'm spanning time,
on that hard grind,
day in, day out,
hour after hour.
i take ten minutes to catch my breath,
and sketch a little something,
before i plunge back into conversational calamity.
i'm not an orator,
i just talk a lot.
i'm not a artist,
i just draw when there's nothing else to do.
if there was an oven at work,
i'd be baking, instead.
believe it;
never quiet, never soft.....
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