"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Death mask

She painted his face on the
biggest canvas she could find,
all in oil and color. The
blood seeped through the pores
and the face became a person.
She lied at times, brushed over
his faults, made him more a
saint than a sinner. By the
end you could see through his
eyes, awash in humanity, wild
with life, hope and faith, all
despite the emptiness of his form.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Circa Survive, Get Out

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