Our Readers
POSOWOCO Correspondent!
To Sender

Dear Readers

I love to watch you paint in the afternoons, With the rain drifting down as if to dampen the day.Sorry I can't be there sometimes, hopefully my words may help brush the time...

Yours Sincerely, POSOWOCO

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Anyone like to see paint interact starting from a blank canvas?.

Or want some thoughts on the subject of paint brushes as applied to the world?.

Perhaps wanting to relax using audio-visual media?.

Or just to see how automatic painting at works?.

There is No Paintbrush Here I am, a spacious arm, Showered in the land of aroma, Where the graves become ribbons, And meetings of arcane starry stone. You see my eyes as free as the drizzle, A scrupulous winding of heart books, Brings all the wakes and river waters, To an enchanting bridge of paintings. Without a paintbrush here I start, To weave and plot and dance the colours, To create and forge and twist my life And on all of its now tainted canvas. 28th May 2020

As the paint brush strokes gradually build up a water colour picture.

I am reminded of the way our lives grow this way.

Some paint obscures other, guided by its opacity.

Other paint fades and dissolves into the page.

Perhaps the whole universe does this on huge and very small scales.

Perhaps the colours could be very very different.

This may be important for us all in our benevolent and Goldilocks world.

Have a look, listen and read the poem below where there is not paintbrush at all.

There is No Paintbrush

here I am spacious --

showered in the land of graves

and meetings of stone