So much has happened that it becomes hard to catch up even in the impersonal writing of a distance of time . This composite chosen out of the guitar series in pastel colors seems watered down like time looking back toward what once was or remembering something but not really recalling . I wake up as the phone beeps some sort of communication from the Web. I don't like that and it must be Google kicking the side of my head as I am kicking the side of the Internet just to show I am alive. So what is really alive? I think that my death was a rumor . Is the nosiness of Google real? I don't even care anymore.I already deleted whatever the message was from my phone .Is the man playing the guitar actually there or just my imagination ? The movement of the painting was my own construction and sometimes I remember his head near the head of the woman which extends to the neck of the guitar.I don't know anymore..
