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September 22, 2002

I do not know my paint box.

I cannot repeat with certainty, or at all, things which came off the knife three days past.

The pattern won't show, the knife won't move, the colors won't come.

Tonight a farce, a grim joke. But not funny - I want to learn the craft.

The craft could support the freedom.

I wonder if I can have them both.

The lesson from Pluche: It can't be forced, it comes as it will. But his hands knew his paintbox, when it lit upon him he could create it.

Not me. Not yet, maybe not ever.