Apophysis has been eating my life over the course of the last few weeks. This is the result. It is slated to be reproduced eventually on a large size canvas hopefully. If you like this I'd greatly appreciate a comment or a mention to others! Reproduction is prohibited. Reposting if credited is permissable. Thanks so much. I've included a poem of mine after this that I hope may be your reading pleasure (there is heavy wording in some parts where I am trying harder to catch a certain something I can't hit perfectly into words). This particular one was a piece I submitted to the New Yorker at one point, though sadly they declined it. -MidnightPlatinum ~ ~ ~ Forward in the Undone going back to the undone, I go forward for flavor. how have these turns in my marrow come to signal that you too can become a God? it was all in a recipe book that found me chanting scripts I had etched in wood in long days alone in a house of the same. it was finally finding something that’s what it was, but that’s as much as not what it was in essence. there is the experience and there is everything else that ornaments it though there it is: it’s had in your saccharine, austere curves causing me pain. you can sit alone with a wedding dress. I would rather have the thing and know nothing as I go back to the undone before we had clothes, before we had blasphemy, before we had to start thinking of what we were going to tell our children: what were our conclusions thus far?, what was the manner of God?, and how had we chosen to respond by picking the quirky method of changing our own manner towards *what is suggested.* just a big puddle with mud with little bits of fire inside. a garden of refreshing fluids— but there is something in the starving, something in the thirsting. we must found out what it is, its siren sound calling out across the desert, a flaming sword now barring our way back. Copyright '07 V. Johansen