Somehow I used to see the devil in this. I still hate looking at it, but there’s nothing so sinister there anymore. At most the argument could be made for a crude shaman like figure, but I don’t feel it anymore. Really it’s nothing, you see what you want to see right? Nobody wants to see the devil, which is probably why I saw it, as I live my life in blind-spots. The corners of other peoples eyes are such comfortable crescents, like little moons you could read a book on. A professor once told me that I had a problem with the use of overly florid language, which I took nothing constructive from because I am always right.

Back to the “art” I used to see the devil in. Is there perhaps some breathtaking cliche hiding there? The things that used to scare us are now so faded it’s almost so sad. Maybe I feel nothing in the place where I used to feel fear. Anxiety is not funny, but it is like that. I hate the box of this self-imposed assignment that I implement to get myself to create anything.


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