i don’t understand why i can’t sleep. maybe, to me, midnight is when the city pretending to be quiet somehow stops trying. when everyone stops talking and without knowing begin to listen.
imagine a city being the first star you saw, maybe you knew their vital burning kept you alive, but, somehow they were still romantic. romantic enough to be wishes, dreams, and a simple gift from the gods. whom you barely knew, but loved more than ever.
i feel this when i look out of a midnight window, out over a sleeping city it's chest rising and falling together. disturbed only by the moonlight walker and his collie dog chester, or the seldom turn signal, and leafy flutter of autumn. to me this is the city.
“A mask has but one expression, frozen and eternal, yet it is always and ever the essential expression, and to hide one’s telltale flesh behind the external skeleton of the mask is to display the universal identity of the inner being in place of the outer identity that is transitory and corrupt. A mask, any mask, whether horned like a beast or feathered like an angel, is the face of immortality. Meet me in Cognito, baby. In Cognito, we’ll have nothing to hide.”- Tom Robbins
do you ever notice how cracks on the sidewalk look like maps? jumbled chaos of lines, dirt, and water. this morning i tripped over scotland, caught my balance in the south of france, and then rode my bike straight across africa. i am always imagining being in other places... am i missing the real message. should i look down at cracks on the sidewalk and appreciate them for what they are? cracks along a path i take everyday, through a neighborhood i know, near people i love.
I rode my bike tonight, well past where i intended to go and even further than that. it was beautiful. my generator powered headlight dimming and sputtering back to life. lightning and the invariable threat of rain. then home to a hot tea and endless blankets. good night everyone.
It's crazy how much I want to start something new, but I can't even get myself to get to it. I don't know what I want or what I want to be. I want adventure and excitement, but alas I'm still here in this place. How do you get your heart to spark for something?
I'm attempting to apply for art residencies, but I'm apprehensive and have no confidence. Doubts and fears do not allow a person to grow, but how do you get past all the negativity that has been thrown at you for the last 6 years. Art is hard and will never be easy. People will always have a problem with your work, but how much can the heart handle when it has been trampled so many times. My desires to create another piece of art hurts. I have no desire anymore. But once that paint brush meets my hand, and my eyes open, I can't stop. Nothing distracts me from the work.
So why can't I just get to work? Why won't I let myself?