head
The detestable, venomous untruths that infiltrate my mind once released, required appropritate destruction. There remains some truth to them, some auditory presence as long as they are legible.
heart
Apparently deeply held beliefs. Core un-truths that seem to run my existence. How can such a vile, toxic monologue have invaded my being. I am not this person.
hands
An old, dried out, chunky posca- perfect for scrawling out such evil. Then laid out across the floor, faced, confronted before succumbing to layer upon layer of splattered colour. Each colour bringing with it a cathartic action of release. Some exaggeratedly hateful, others floating with excitable giggles, yet more with the focus on force of motion - getting RID OF THEM. Covering them, repeatedly telling the world they are not true, they are lies.