lovely.

A long and beautiful drive with wonderful conversation – Seed and I talked about everything under the moon, for a large part centered around a quote from the artist Andrea Zittel –
“I am always looking for the gray area between freedom — which can sometimes feel too open-ended and vast—and security—which may easily turn into confinement.”

We talked about how desperately we are all trying to maintain that gray area, a very fine line and difficult to maintain if one isn’t always aware. I find myself always leaning much more to the freedom aspect, absolutely loving the idea that tomorrow can bring anything at all and literally within minutes I can be packed up and gone again, following the flow of life and dissapearing without a word. I adore this freedom, but deep inside there is, without question, the yearning for something solid, something that I can hold onto and call my own – a sanctuary that I can depend on to be there for me, a door I can open and close, inviting people in or keeping them out to preserve my beautiful and necessary solitude…
But freedom, the ability to follow the wind, the delight in being able to run with every whim I choose to, I don’t think I could give that up. This is something new to me in a certain degree – in this particular way. As a boy, it was there – the second time I ran away from home it was weeks before I contacted my folks in San Diego, simply saying “Hey, I’m in Berkeley now, very happy, very well, and don’t worry – I’m fine and I love you. There’s no way for you to contact me, but I’ll touch base every month or so…”

That was more of a desperate jailbreak than anything else – this is something else entirely. Chosen with the knowledge of 38 years spent balancing on the thin line between comfort and actually living life.

There is far too much to do before I die. Years ago this hit. It just took me a bit to find the roads to it. When the time was right, it offered itself and I accepted. I love my life.

But I digress.

The Basquiat exhibit was beautiful, we arrived just as DJ Spooky was going on, and I must admit – I was less than impressed but this person who is supposed to be an icon in the DJ world. Such little flow, mixes that didn’t flow at all – but I didn;t really come for the music, I came for Basquiat. I wandered around looking at the prolific collection on display, loving every second of it. Unfortunately Seed prefers to talk about the pieces, where I only want to look at them in my own silence, scanning first, then letting my mind direct my eyes to the parts that catch them. I don’t analyze, I don’t infuse a clinical aproac to my viewing of any art, and I never have. I choose to absorb, so see in silence. To let them wash over me and feel it instead of think about it. I believe that is how Art should be appreciated – with the soul and heart – not the mind. Let it go deeper, don’t talk, feel it. See what you see, and shut the fuck up. Let it say what it says to you, and don’t talk to me about it, as I will see it differently. Art is for personal interpretation, art is to be felt, not analyzed and ripped apart into all the cliche’s from art lessons and history and techniques and where these ideas came from and what they mean. Fuck that. I see what I need to, and in that, it means so much more. I frequently read the descriptions, but simply for background and a bit more clarity, but I still don’t want to talk about it…

The exhibit was beautiful. I maintained my silence without being an asshole to her, but her interjections, as much as I preferred not to hear them or be distracted, were still relatively few. We had a wonderful time, only leaving when we had too.

Switching tracks.

Yes. My recent amusement when I awoke yesterday morning.

I was recently called “a little melodramatic, overemotional”. At first, I passed on this in humor and agreement – but then yesterday woke with the realization that it was used as an escape from someting that could have been beautiful, and the fact of that disgusted me. Let’s see – melodramatic and overemotional. Well, yeah, but let’s look at the six weeks of my life directly before we began to know each other:
A child was born that should have been mine, years ago – and I was told by the ex that it had my eyes. I packed everything I could into a van for a move to Boston, to follow a new life. Midway through, the littlle princess twat I was travelling with couldn’t handle the adversities we faced on the way, and hopped the bus to the airport in Denver, taking all the money we had made together busking and leaving me with a little over $4 in change. Two days later, I was fired from a job that I loved like no other in my life – that was more fullfilling and more satisfying than any I had other I have had in my life. I ended up in Austin, a city that does its best to make it next to impossible to make money doing the art I do to survive, leaving me frustrated as hell and constantly trying to figure out a way to make money, something that was as simple as pie in seven other cities across the nation – and making it that more difficult to get the fuck out of here when that particular wind blows. Then, to top it off, the best friend I have ever had in my life, Bean, who has been with me nearly every day for five straight years, giving me love and stability and, without question, preventing me from taking my own life a small number of times, is killed.

Yeah. I sure as fuck was emotional. Try not to be when your life falls to shreds around and inside of you in the space of 45 days. That’s when we began to get to talk. Couldn’t have been a worse time to explore me.

It’s a pity that this person appears to have run away before they ever knew me. They’re one of the rare ones – but it seems as if the judgements were made before I did what I needed to do to come back.

I’m back.

I’m here.

I’m weary of unanswered emails, and will put no more one-sided effort into this. I don’t howl at the moon anymore. I wish I could say I didn’t give a fuck…

NOW, back to the Forest! A beautiful day for a yard sale.

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11 responses to “lovely.

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