a brief retrospective…

(Pictures from August 21st)

See, the issue is this…the clouds repeat themselves just like I seem to be repeating myself…saying that the clouds repeat themselves…it would be easier to find clear examples if I didn’t have so many pictures from so many months…if a picture is worth a thousand words, how many words are thousands of pictures worth?

Infinite words in infinite languages…

The sweeping of wind must’ve been like waves, the spines pulled out like sand…

I found this mass to be peculiar…it reminded me of the silhouette of a fish…

Somebody told me a while back that someone had told them that this blog is “horrifying” – yes, it is horrifying…that such hope kept my eyes on the sky and a remarkable focus was found…and nobody even believes anything they say they believe or actually hopes for anything they are supposed to hope for…and so quickly they dismiss me…a nobody who has been through her own sort of hell with this…proof of stories I never believed could be possible…except people only see clouds, because that is what the sky is to us now…a useless dead field, a space for planes and sunsets on beaches before we go get drunk…

Except that sometimes, as we all ought to know, everything old becomes new again…

(July)

Gee, this looks familiar…oh yeah, that’s ’cause I’ve been seeing it for months…

Fancy filigree for a cloud, isn’t it? I think the clouds are the most beautiful and hopeful thing I have ever seen…sometimes I see forms that look to my artist’s eye so much like whales or wings or waves that my eyes sting like oceans themselves as I watch them over the mountains…wishing that someone else would see them…

I don’t know if you know this, but near everyone thinks I am delusional…hypomanic…that my ‘chemicals’ are ‘out of whack’ – – – and it’s true that I got carried away by the realization that it’s all real…and all the puzzles missing pieces snapped together in my mind with clean edges like we’ve never known…

I don’t talk about clouds anymore…even here, in the ethers, I am wary…my great-grandmother taught me to play cards and I know a good hand when I see one…and I didn’t even ask to be in the game…

I remember this cloud…when the plane flew through it – the branch seemed to reach out. I think I must’ve said, “What the f*ck?” out loud. I said that sort of thing a lot this summer. Alone on my porch, documenting just because it seemed like someone ought to…and because I had time…

This is a picture from, I think August 12th…more old etchings…

…the words mean nothing, it was a mindfulness exercise in which the last letter of the word spoken before was to be the first of the next word spoken and in the end it was just a jumble of words…

(October)

These are pictures from yesterday. I don’t even care if anyone believes me. It just proves my point…that we are so misled that we can’t even believe in anything old and good anymore…I guess some people would be upset if they read this…call me some name or another…put me somewhere and tell me to pull down my pants for another deadening shot…somehow, even as quiet and still as I have tried to make myself in my walking and talkingness, I am still not satisfactory to the people who assess me on the basis of some fairly murky criteria.

Calmly and quietly writing in the evening, taking pictures of clouds that look like old stories and symbols…trying to repair my busted life in some small way each day…trying to get used to the idea that, in some ways, my life as I knew it is irreparable and that, somehow…I am alone in this.

I wish someone would just admit that it is quite possible that maybe we should have been paying closer attention…that’s all I want, is for people to pay closer attention and to realize that we are being written all wrong and that we are paying the costs for some disastrous stories…

Cherub? But, it could also be the East Indian symbol that is tattooed on all those college girls…or probably about ten other things, depending on how you look at it.

Tide pools…

Tell me there is nothing there and I will tell you that you are a terrified liar.

In my version of the story, it’s a bird…but, I don’t know all the stories…I don’t really know any of them…


This isn’t a joke, or a hoax…or a stunt…or a fake…it’s the sky…and it is real and I have seen a lot of skies in my day, but none of them ever gave me sense like these do…and there is nothing wrong with that…I have done nothing wrong and perhaps if this culture were more tolerant of sense, well – perhaps things would be more sensible, wouldn’t they?

For instance, people would realize that these words are written by an actual person and this is real…and maybe my walking and talking life would be characterized by something other than this strange duality of flat and full…I am figuring it all out…and everyone seems to just think it’s okay to write me off as ‘imbalanced’ – – – given the circumstances, I’d say I am handling it all quite well.

People have no idea what they say when they speak to me…everytime I talk to people, it turns into a list of my perceived flaws and the possible consequences of those flaws…and my heart is broken all over again, so I talk to people less and less…and I guess that’s probably for the best…

Is there really anything to say?

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