The cities, the rain, the heat, the lights.
He would tell if there were something to tell,
but there is nothing to tell.
"They want the exciting stories from the front but there 
is nothing to tell. Nebulous memories of absurd and 
macabre. The cities, the rain, the heat, the lights.He 
would tell if there were something to tell but the 
milieux of moments is tough to sift through. The thick 
brush is hardly the instrument of finely painted 
recollections. Conceptual ramblings, monochromatic, 
vague. Jackson Pollock's personally drawn Rorschach test 
- lesser artst have gotten away with worse. With time and 
practice, the strokes will become refined and the 
subjects discernable: the borders, the local cuisine, the 
people, how her hair fell, just how many beers. Sat in a 
static studio apartment, one takes on no dimension or 
definition without his presence, he will fill the blank 
walls with these vissages. He will paint the walls."