Pointillisme

Turned out that pointillisme wasn’t for me. Words suggest themselves to you to accept or reject. You put in the hours for a while. Am I a pointilliste? You make a thousand dots. A thousand more. Zali Krishna – pointilliste, is that a thing? You put it back down again. Why is there even that frenchified e at the end? It wasn’t you.

Avoids the obvious pun and moves on.

Other broader words assail you on yr way from place to place. Happiness. Freedom. Am I happy? You try on a smile and walk it around the place. Happy Krishna, is that what they’ll call me? It becomes a lot to live up to. I want to be free of that. Am I a free man? You become quite unhappy with the expectation of it.

Humming Me & Bobby McGee for a bit helps. At least you know y’re not Janis Joplin.

If you could become free of words that grasp, without that being a conceptual conceit in itself, well, y’know… that’d be alright, wouldn’t it?