RoM 07- #6/9 She Wants Him Bad
Wait, perhaps a good confession is what I need just now.
But it’s not coming. There is no back ground in the layout, it all springs forward as in one of those Matisse painting. Flat forward. Chaotic in color, demanding all of the attention — every thing is hollering ME FIRST impatiently. Everything of importance can be faced, figured and personified. And if you want this him bad enough, you can talk yourself into needing it. This face is wide and dusty, with an enormous mouth you are constantly driving into.
When the field is vast, I often do not know where I am. This no longer frightens me. In small spaces I only need to keep track of the nightlight that keeps the orientation of the room in check. Now that room is a cold front seat. The only thing between it and the grand open, was the map of the desert I was busy studying, imagining I knew what I was doing. We merge into the fogging light, but cannot stay in it for long.
As sharp as the non-verbal tack, and as cool as needs be. I’m not up on B-plans, and not following blue lines.