untitled by Patch Kelly
It was better than any movie that I have ever seen, all the honest emotion. All the minute details emotionally registered, now surfaced. The difference in perspective, and the way that I was the one to remember the words. It was easy for these faded pictures to slip my mind. I had lost my own image somewhere. The colors and the textures had all faded into gray-like smoke. In surfacing effortlessly to new ground once familiar is how I found true miracles. The vivid colors that have returned to my flesh. I can see me again, in all the radiance that leaves the pigmentation of my presence. Becoming a mirror of the monster of the nightmare mothers that imagination had created. In the wholeness that I once thought that I had found, I lost my true perspective in pounds. The brightness of my reality in inks has illustrated my apodictic world. The banderole of who I once was, who I am, and where I came from. My animation is a diagram; a correspondence to irrecoverable stars that still shine brilliantly, more acutely than before. I’ve pilled the hues from the inside out, extending them to those that surround me. Screening them blanketed I see the images now. Graphically intense and saturated. I am more than a component of the perplexities. More than the composite. When strangers pass by, they recognize me immediately. And without all of my parts I am hale and hearty. I can be healthy again. Without all of my parts, I am whole.
— Patch Kelly
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