Reality for me has been a kind of involuting fluid these past few decades or so. And frankly, I can't say a word without my head spinning sometimes for the shear force of the visual imagery that sometimes accompanies my utterances. Not altogether frightening, but sometimes it hurts that I can't act on them, make art, I mean (I think...). Makes me want to just shut myself up somewhere - if I could - but I can't, which maybe that's good, and maybe that's what distinguishes me, I don't know, as an "Artist." What the heck is that anyway? Damned if I know. Do you? Maybe it's a self-absorbed mind that stops just short of realizing it's a moisture collecting speck in this huge and sagging cloud call animate matter.
No comments:
Post a Comment