Mike Essig

I am currently preparing for university, basically, compiling values from the number of gold stamps I got and fitting my values between grids. Your poem flushed me the ugly mould that was lodged between my throat, I can’t wait to learn but the fact that I might not even have the chance to scares me. So, so much. I feel like my comment turned in to a paragraph of ranting. I typed sorry in place of this sentence but I decided not to apologise, instead let me continue speaking my thoughts. I can’t stop thinking about the creature in the painting you posted along with your poem, the figure with a broken egghead. It looks the happiest, the most liberating out of everyone else in the grids. It seems to have escaped, through the crack in his head, ungoverned by the falling stand or the rags hanging over its body floating in beautifully ominous sky of purple and blue which other doesn’t even seem to notice. Thank you, for making me feel. I thought I lost my emotions or the ability to grasp them for a while.