erika alexza
I stare at the illuminating interface of my word processor,
“Write something about your art”, on my mind. Crumb by crumb, I
take apart my own scattering thoughts; fleecing at the recesses
of a mind full of tangled balls of moldering feline fur.
Like the questions, “What is your favorite color” or “Describe
yourself”, I pause in utter ignorance. Perhaps I have always been
this clueless of what I really am as person or an artist. Every
single day is a raddled replica of yesterday and I am still as
ignorant and more disheartened than who I was the day before.
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HUBIN MAGAZINE