I forget that this weblog was intended to be an exploration of the process of drawing everyday for a year after not having done anything too terribly creative for awhile – other than have a couple of babies, sew some nursing dresses, write a children’s book about the sky, move a few times, gone to bits of graduate programs and worked a few jobs, created three fine gardens, tended to a quarter of an acre of kudzu with my bare hands.
They, my hands, looked tough with the tattoos and the silty wet soil…and I thought that I ought to revisit expressive arts.
Almost immediately, I was caught up in some post-apocalyptic daydream of deserted cities and rabbits everywhere.
The more I drew the more aware I became of how lines fit together and how the composition of an object affects the space around it.
I was working at a science center at the time, facilitating Sex Ed. classes and blowing up balloons.
I looked at everything veryvery closely.
Now, what am I?
I am just trying to hold onto some hope in a world that is simultaneously more hopeful and more tragic than it has been in a very long time.
This is my thread.
“I didn’t start off as such a weirdo.”
That’s not true. I’ve always been peculiar.
However, many people are charmed by the eccentric that does not realize she is eccentric.
I suspect that not many are aware of this truly bizarre record. Which really isn’t that strange. It’s just honest and irreverent at times, deeply reverent at others.
It is what it is. Is there another way to say this yet?
I write it for me, because it is important for me to have an archive of my transversing the internal/external and explaining, “Wait. This is really how it was for me.”
I think I became increasingly committed to this idea of leaving a papertrail to the person I really am after I read my Uncle Marcus’ letters from 1913.
His sister saved them, for almost a hundred years, they’d been kept because they told a story about what happened when Marcus ran away from home with his best friend, whose name was Noble. They told a story of a young man whom I recognized in my own dark eyes, though he could draw horses far better than I.
They say he was killed in the First World War, though his father wanted to kill him earlier, for being the prodigal son and saying such things against the State of Georgia.
I like to pretend he ran away again, this time in France.
Maybe if I put his letters into a book, I wouldn’t be such a weirdo?
Maybe I’d just be a writer.
You know how they can be.
Of course, while I was figuring out where my papertrail might lead, I came across a few things and these ideas are stories of their own, all interwoven with a billion others.
I am now calling it ‘accidental, experiential research’ – I have also been known to refer to it as ‘postmodern algorithmic deconstruction/extrapolation.’
I make all this stuff up. However, it is all true.
As someone who has, for the past 12 years, had 9 dots tattooed on the back of each ear, “because 9 is 3,3,3 and 9+9=18, which is 9 again and 18 is 6,6,6 and 6 is 2, three times and 222 is my lucky number…”
Well, I understood what you were talking about.
I also have an auditory processing issue, but a high verbal IQ, and was in speech classes as a kid. Math used to scare me, but it hasn’t in a long time. Once I began to consider the numbers as having character (like words) and saw that they behaved in certain ways, I started to enjoy them more.
Studying Arabic helped. I lost the language, but kept the stronger sense of flexible logic that learning to read right to left taught me.
I have done an enormous (and largely accidental) amount of research into environmental energies and their effects on manifest environment and human consciousness, which I define as interpretation of code and associated meaning, mediated frameworks through which we interpret the manifest environment.
I have used the framework of code-based (all broken down to electricity, even our ionically-inclined taste receptors) sense-consciousness to explain everything from God to mental illness to oppressive system domination and have a lengthy experimental narrative clearinghouse to show for it.
It all sounds quite mad. Which, of course, it is…because the ubiquitous- they structured any such inquiry into what’s really going on around here out to be some sort of twisted malady, punishable even.
This is, for me, a source of storm-outrage for me…that we are denied even the most basic understanding of how the world works.
I appreciate that you offered your presentation as simply yourself.
I also try to somewhat be myself in the work that I do and the ideas I put forth.
I’m not always pretty. This challenges people.
I was thinking yesterday about phi and why it is so persistent. The ratio itself suggests tension, and where there is tension, there is kinetic potential. It feels like it’s moving, even when it’s still.
It is also very much a part of our universal frameworks and I wonder sometimes if it was phi that first caught my eye in the clouds.
I think I might be something of a intuitive physicist, but I don’t know very much about physics…only enough to know that a lot of it is wrong and there are some very basic truths missing from the public canon of understanding.
Maybe I am just a weirdo who still desperately wants to find beauty in the world and the most beautiful I can think of is a body of unifying ideas and compassionate sense – Something For Everybody! – and so I am now realizing that nothing having to do with human ideas is really all that beautiful.
No idea can compare to the simple beauty of patterns in nature, the eternal sense in the branch and flow. How everything works and it does so simply because that is what it is supposed to do.
I suppose the wonder of a unifying idea is that if such an idea existed – it might resolve so many of the bad ideas that have muddied so much understanding and it would pay creedance to the nautilus for knowing what to do in this world.Where, by the way, is biophysics? The field that is all about how electricity is the basis of everything about us that is, in fact, real. Our heart beats started with an electrical reaction.
They aren’t magic.
To think that our body of electrical currents grows and builds from a simple collision, resulting in a spark, that lights all the bridges and pushes ever onward, building the closest thing we may have to an actual soul…a current with a character all its own, that is the cumulative pattern of everything you’ve ever loved or hated?
Well, that’s a lot to think about, isn’t it?
The human heart is a beautiful meme.I thought, for a time, that I could call clouds, pull forms from the ethers. I don’t think I bring them, or maybe I do? Maybe the mountains do? Maybe any of us can, and do…maybe it’s a bunch of hooey?
I don’t know where they, clouds or ideas, come from.
That’s not true.
It’s disturbing to me that people don’t talk about so many things. Of course, that’s not true. A lot of people talk about about a lot of things, though very few of us are on the same page these days.
There are clusters of shared reality and we move to and fro, malleable and isolated.
Perhaps it is something so simple as when our currents join to the high frequencies of old divinities, the environment responds in ways that appear feel like miracles, but really are simply the ways in which we are all the same?