For several months, I observed a dried eucalyptus plant.
There are a bunch of circular shapes attached to lines-bundled together in a way that distorts these shapes in some places. I am sitting on the floor, criss-cross, slouched into my paper. I should probably put on my glasses because my double vision is confusing me a bit. My eyes are tired. I have a stick of charcoal in my hand, my fingers are covered in charcoal and charcoal dust. My fingers dig into the paper, rubbing in circles. My hand follows the outlines in front of me. At some point I had water. I rubbed the water into the paper, tearing it. Back and forth between adding form and destroying it. My wrist hurts. It is a lot of pressure. A lot of damage. I am sick, this image in front of me is dead. A squishy eraser in my hand adds some light, adds a softness. It rubs away the darkness, while I rub the darkness back in. The black powder is overwhelming. With water, it resists. It spreads. My body, my eyes are so close to the powder they are throbbing. My body hurts, it doesn’t want to go left anymore. Maybe i’ll go right.
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