When I look at this painting, I see a binary. At first, I’m attracted to the deep blue that’s filled with black and blood. It reminds me of an ocean woman. This ocean woman has experienced a lot of death. I cannot see as well as I can feel, but I feel crumbled bones in the bottom of her sea. I feel her soft waves tumbling over the gravel of it all—that’s why the blood just ruminates inside like ink, the liquid bursts between the breaks. All she can do is ripple it into love, over and over again. Please don’t miss the soft might. That’s also why her eye is the moon; she sees more than she lies as. Have you ever wondered what the ocean was reaching for? Moving along, I then see a bitch in her body. The bitch is a compilation of many historical deaths. The history unfolds through legs of rape, gossip, starvation, and fiery whips. It’s a mascaraed party—all nonetheless, dead. Only this death is made up of the most wicked deaths—a death of character, a death of the soul, a death of God. The bitch is both big and small, creating a binary out of what is supposed to be infinite. The ocean woman was supposed to be infinite. You can’t kill and infinity, but you can make an infinity smaller than what it is. That’s what makes the bitch big—the potential it steals—otherwise small. That’s the binary, and to be honest, I rarely see binaries. I’ve always had the moons to push or pull for the truth, then support it. So, as I write this piece, the stars are reflected in the ocean woman. The stars run in the midnight sky in and out of lines that turn into astrology. And those astrological lines become compilations, that then become my science, my water, and my bible. That’s the truth.