~ empty glass of milk ~

not much following the brush or pencil lately, but definitely following the eyes.
as they meet the floor, the Infanticidess rises.

to recycle a pure value from the dust of a generation. to liberate it from the purgatory of the past dates. through an act of violence on the liminal grounds - let them speak. let them settle. the eyes, the hands, the lashes. let them reach the completion through dismemberment. the moment when killing becomes a dawn of a new life. does it ring a bell?
be so or not - see you soon in my new vision, have a foretaste. and until then -

remember, hardy tin soldier

damaged people are dangerous

they know they can survive

hear
the inevitability of locks and zippers

the sound of future dragged behind