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Right time, wrong place

“That is the wrong place to put it.”

The square needed to be in the right corner on the right-angled periphery of the left street, turning into Obtuse Manner, the 5th house on the corner, with the purple liquid door. In the world of this painting everything was, the other way round- for instance- I was one part of the cube that needed to be on the opposing side of the street- but humans, were often like this. Following their own needs and wants rather than listening to the paint, the brush, the movement that wont be stilled.

I am never still.

I was always moving and becoming with the most obtuse occurrences- like dew on grass at the breaking of dawn. It would be midnight soon and he will stop. His bones were tired. They were dreary things with little nutrients, and even less understanding. He was a man that held beauty like an ill-advised joke- bad timing that harnessed oblique vision.

“7AM.”

That was another thing about humans; they never listened. We all knew- what to do but getting humans, to do what they wanted to do, was like asking, the sun to stop burning, the fallacy was that the sun did not know it was burning and humans did not know, that they knew what to do.

I wonder how much blood has been spilled.

This human thought they knew what to do but rather they knew what they should not do. It was not the same. I pulled his hand still.

“I’m tired.”

It was a simple enough task. Paint the future. It was an impossible task when using the hand of a human. I knew what to paint. I had sent him the vision but would he listen? Or would he paint, what he was not paying attention too?  

Everything exists together. Of course, he would paint, the portal on the other side of the street, I knew he would. But knowing the future does not mean it exists. The future existed in the hearts of those who wanted it to be true.

This human listened to the dead- he demanded the truth but felt small in comparison. He was not the first. He would not be the last. I would go on.

The future happened on the 22nd day of next month, rather than on the 5th day of next week. I hope they are ready. I hope they understood that another future would come, but not for them. He painted the cube on the wrong side of the street and thus what needed to occur today would happen tomorrow. He placed me into the water waiting for me to be cleaned.

His hands, will do the work but he will wait for tomorrow. He has weak hands. Weak bones. I was weak when I was with him- for he did not pay attention to what I placed in front of him.

When I come again, I will come to a hand that is not frightened to paint the future because of what occurred in the past. 

Photography by Michelle Gutiérrez

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