As I work I tend to sit cross legged with the sculpture cradled in my lap. I turn it as I go, stitching in a spiral. It is stuffed with a jumper given to me by a friend, strands of glitter sometimes pulling through.
‘Identity shift big changes is who i am fixed or in flux the connectedness of self unwise decisions florid thinking interprets black as white and vice versa overrule cannot think straight in my right mind thought derailment you are not yourself things are not as they seem to be’
One thought moves to the next without punctuation, a stream of associations similar to a flight of ideas.
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