Celestial return

Paint like this reminds me of images that I used to see of galaxies, celestial bodies unnamed in my mind. They have names. Everything has at least one name. My mind just didn’t know them, similarly to how it can’t match a Honda Accord with a Honda Accord. The car was dirty silver, like an old coin found in the street. The tree had leaves like pointy elongated tears. The  fabric feels like a spider web looks. 

No one seems to have much use for knowing the names of ghosts. Or whatever they are. Ghost is a name, too. We all know that name, like names of God, only more people snicker about Ghosts.

My throat is sore, my head hurts, and my nose feels like someone has been scraping the inside of it with a serrated knife. I need to get to work, but I wanted to take a moment to think about something else, and it ended up being this picture. Then it ended up being names. I still have to title my work.

Back to it, then.

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Author: sp.ps

I make things.

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