I can see a little spider. Swinging between the spine and arm of my mentors subjectively dull chair, that he never seems to use.

I can remember little moments, ideas that have stuck with me. The role of the confined space. The human mind is in a constant state of conflict. Oil paint was invented to depict flesh. It’s almost like a memory of a dream. A Home About Objects and I had to leave the fabric to rot. I can almost remember it now, the way I felt in my car, or in that classroom. Yes, I can almost remember, who I was back then, sixteen inches ago. I wish I could remember every word I read, every concept I understood. If only I could remember! When I was sitting in the old house, and I chose to continue on, even if it took a year.

Those words still ring in my head every moment:

It’s almost like a memory, confined, Objects, of conflict, to depict flesh.