The common ground

The common ground is not a promised land

hidden somewhere, in the midst of untamed dreams

far away from all imperfections: flawless, unspoiled

far from wretched humans and their exhausting crazes


That is what you're picturing

that is what you're blindly, and selfishly, and stubbornly picturing

and painting with a thick, coarse brush, on top of my face

which could be, or couldn't be there, wouldn't make any difference

you wouldn't even notice

if I was, or wasn't still there

as you're so busy painting, and painting, with your eyeless fervency


If only you knew

that painting is not a matter of the hand, or the brush, or the paint:

but a matter

strictly a matter

of the eye.


If you don't train to observe, absorbe and soak with the vision of

what is in front of you

your stupid painting will always be a boring reflection of your canned thoughts

and never the distilled essence

of the life you're witnessing.


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