My fish have lost their substance. Sometimes they nearly lose their very fishness. Without color, swimming in thought, not water. Without blue. Fluidity becoming line.
They became lines. Line fishes. Bendy. Aiming. Curvalinear. Unsubstanced. Black lines. Thin lines. Intentions.
Gestures of upness and downness and all aroundness.
They used to be fish, but now they are records of my handwriting.