Thick pads of transparent blueish mucus settle at the base of my tongue. I am continually expelling it from my body.
It’s three o’clock in the morning.
Time for distraction.
Time to paint.
No flowers around this morning to act as a base for a painting.
I remember my mother’s Chinese snuff bottles.
Among her collection of small objects, I remember a transparent blue Chinese snuff bottle.
The painting process has started.
The painting tells me what to do.
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