So there's this boy? And it's beyond over. I am not even sure if he is alive because he has not answered my last two phone calls and he likes to do very risky things. But I think he is alive, because in the past whenever this happens he has been alive. And I think that someday in the not too distant future I will again be welcome in the carefully tended, overflowing mausoleum that is his life. (It's not a mausoleum of death. It's a mausoleum of stasis.) So right now I was looking at a painting I made of him last year, and thinking it is not quite decent to have it up in my room because it is a bare torso and we are distant.
So I was taking it down, when I saw the other one I have up, which I made in color from a sketch I made (this is forbidden because it doesn't turn out) while he recovered from something- it looks like an abstraction and no one can tell what it is, but to me it looks so tender. And I can absolutely not bear to take it down tonight. It's not as though I even see it; I have a lot of my paintings all over everything.