Gradient Tilt

Wholly unprepared, sometimes a frozen 60-degree angle gets walked in slip-ons, with checkmarks on the flanks, with all edges rounded off. The covering secured — some self-validation for a few months. They soothe with nothing but a palette. They are sure to shrug off the weathering. (In the right environment, which this isn’t.) 360-degree protection but keeps a bit of the stirrups showing, or whatever you call the side parts of that skinny muscle at the back of your ankle. Think of it like a display case for the stockings.

Together again. Unfailingly filled spaces and frustration it’s not enough. Acceptance and resignation actually mean the same, the stasis is handled so well. Satisfaction comes from cracking it, but the comfort? Within the containment.

The side effects of remaining: The repetitive fear of the swaddle when it used to be and may soon to be yours, if you keep it up? The foreboding lack of “work on that fear of fear”? The uncertainty, the total commitment to a commissioned piece bid on in error and intoxication? The sentences commuted. The waves, most certainly amplified, just vibrate to smooth the surface.

Now’s a good a time as ever to remember pacing that angle, ankle sides stating “Chill Out” as if that wasn’t the entire problem. Jasper trapezoids replaced by cool blues of the substance causing all these issues. That’s how you draw them anyway, because you can’t imitate soft whites. Names ring like Jessy or Tod; they handle it daringly. But when the dome top makes it most black, YOU wish your partner’s camp or van was there, and it would exude moldy 70s beiges. But neither is here. There’s here, and there’s not, and you’re pretty sure you’re soon to be not, as all pigments are primed for fading and massive peeling in the future. So you quitted. The motions made to get three quarters’ way don’t give the fourth no legs. You step aside, release, redefine peak, refuse to come to theirs. It isn’t real anyways. You don’t see it.