by Christos Polydorou
I love it when night starts creeping in. Now that I’ve been living in England, the evil spirits especially take over me when night begins to withdraw, and then I become so evil, my art is razor sharp.
Some * * * * * I knew told me I hide behind my art. All I could see was her Barbra Streisand nose like a bull’s eye. Hide behind my art? Please. My drive could kill her. I can barely bare it.
I am myself, but who am I? Am I my face? Am I a post on Facebook? Or am I one word after another, like removing band aids?
I wish I could stop. But if I stop what would I do?
Sometimes I can feel the universe gnawing at me and I continue to make art just to forget.
I continue to draw hoping for a peaceful day.