I am for an art that watches. Art that measures time by Orion's place in the sky. An art that goes to the end of the universe. I am for the art of wet asphalt, carbon crystals and the periodic table of elements.

I am for the art from the hall of the mountain king. Stalactite and stalagmite and the mythical creatures hidden in shadows.

I am for clumsy art, falling down stairs and stubbing its toes on corners and chairs.
I am for the art in the moment a laugh becomes hysterics, the second you've lost control, when up and down are lost

I am for art that wont sleep till Brooklyn.

I am for an art that is willing to calculate infinity.
I am for the art of heart monitors and respirators. An art that stays past visiting hours.
I am for an art that is subtitled white on white.

I am for an art that stands in the rain. An art that yells from mountains and stands too close to the edge of a cliff.

I am for the art in driving forty-five minutes to meet half way.
I am for the art of last calls, train wrecking, photo booth documentation of the nights you take the long way home.
I am for the art of Hawkeye Pierce and Holden Caulfield.

I am for the art in an imaginary friend, of hopes too big to ever see reality.
I am for the artist, the king of carrot flowers, two headed boys and the big dipper.
I am for an artist that fights panic attacks with paper bags. Artists who understand hope kills fear.
I am for art that stands fighting windmills, art that pushes boulders uphills.

I am for art that reads Scientific America.
I am for an art that burns the brightest. Ashes to ashes, art that accepts it will one day be ruins.

I am for art that wakes up in the middle of the night from dreams where all its teeth have fallen out.
I am for the art of a roadside memorial. Mourning in public, an art that wears its heart on its sleeve. art that can save Latin. Nostalgia for things undone. The art of knowing no other way.
I am for an art that is louder than bombs.

I am for the art that answers every question every asked in a language no one understands. the art of an echo.
I am for art that has free will, moving through dimensions. An art that knows the secrets of time travel.
I am for the art in a death growl. Last gasps and last rights.
I am for the art of mischief makers, stolen lawn ornaments and love letters written on walls.
I am for art "thirsty for scents and for laughter. Thirsty for new songs without irises or moons, without dead loves"

I am for an art that stays in your eyes. filling your mouth with unknown dialects. The art of sun spots and afternoon naps on park benches.

I am for the artist with insomnia, carrying ghosts and burden beneath their eyes.
I am for art that has been buried in the rain, left for year, an art that feels at home with bones and antlers. Art that knows its place is with the wolves.

I am for the art that knows war, hands scarred and calloused. A life line torn in half.
I am for the artist who is always alone in the crowd.