Splattered With Nonsense

This experimental ditty fought to come out tonight. So who was I to deny it?

Splattered With Nonsense
JT 11/27/06

Tangerine, navy blue, jade, cotton, and black. These colors drain before my very eyes from a source unbeknown. Crimson, turquoise, sienna, and indigo dance before me in a perfect tantalizing rhythm.

I wish I had a canvas and an adequate brush so that I could capture their essence correctly. I’d dip my brush in and give the canvas life. I can see myself wildly working at it. Oh how I’d let my hands be free splattering the world with so much color it couldn’t handle.

A stroke should not be confined. No. It has a mind of its own. Yes, stroke thickly and sometimes thin. Don’t allow constraints to limit you my pupil.

Oh how he works at it like a teenager in his first piece of pussy. My boy you will learn not to jab so hard with your erect wrist. Loosen it boy and quit being so frigid. You must learn to control the talent. It will come over time I suppose. Otherwise you will be considered a bad lover.

I feel helpless. You see I am a mute. My words are conveyed through my pen. I too see the wall of colors. My canvas is a pen and a pad. I’m grateful to never have spoken. I see the world in a way that few have and I’m not sure I could articulate it anyway. Otherwise I’d be taken for crazy and overzealous, or perhaps a pompous jackass.

The kid’s no artist right now. He’ll be some day. I’m sure he’ll master his art before he masters control of his dick, lest my nightly prayers go unanswered. Otherwise you’ll never see clearly with your pubescent nostrils consumed with the smell of women.