I am a illusion consisting of thoughts and words as to what I think I am.
Take that away and I am me, lacking of thought preconceived.
It is in which the world and all its surrounds have not been limited by names.
For they exist as being I.
I am a mirror trapped within the reflections of my own surrounds.
An obituary built off the foundations of my own past, in recognition of my future.
But where is my future without my past and my past with out my future.
For as I exist as the, "now" a collaboration of both.
For if not for dreams reality would cry forth from the hearts of men, as a mere burden.
I am what I do.
Edward Blum. 1984.
This painting has been my tormentor and dominator the last weeks. The more I look the further I see. It is to me is a universe within itself.