I feel right as red & I’m not sure why, well I know why, but I don’t know why the why is why I feel right as red. I got into yet another name-calling, human degrading, blame throwing, damage instilling, thread breaking, connection deconnecting, anger & hatred filled kind of loneliness sparking resentment resuming, life in the moment obliterating kind of dispute. & though this is or was here, the sun shines onto my canvas without judgement. & the bees fly. Who knew bumblebees & wasps were such great friends, are such. The heat of the sun can be seen. The flight of small insects can almost be felt. Sillouhettes of sun-shadowed things create the backdrop for this human to enjoy his & the life swarming around his vibrating self.& to what or when is the decision made to react & respond to the knife or hand out in front, perhaps a tool of red inspiration or perhaps one of friendship formation. Coming to the middle is an exhertion of higher self & with it therein brings a special kind of clarity, a sigh of actual presence, for what it is, that is, is there is no hand there is no knife, neither hand nor knife & this reduction is again an exhertion. The making of truth is felt physically. Just as wings of curious bees hold unpredictably still, so do our selves, & both the movement & stillness felt with frightening unassurance & chaos or, or and, swanlike patience, floating particle like presence, a complete surrendering like self at all times to the forging right nows littered with hypocracies, extremes, & contradictions to the beeps, or flaps, or red sight, or commands, frustrations & beauty that come with the territory of Simultaneous Shared Time, & gift of God, no limits—->
And so I return home, & am like, “I’m so sleepy,” like NOT EVEN BEFORE I’VE ENTERED MY HOME & STUDIO, my bed & my dream-killer, my place of nourishment, my place of depletion, my space of higher purpose, my place to be private & do private things, & though I don’t have a room of my own, & much space if any to be chaotic with mediums & supplies & ideas, & though the ideals are not being met in any shape or form above expectation, GOD HAS ALWAYS GIVEN ME AN ABUNDANCE OF EVERYTHING, & it is only through my human intelligence, that I imagine my room, & my time, & an improved discipline, & perhaps even more leisure and abundance, & other things more like “ideals,” & not to say the clouds are always stormy, or tornadoey, or hurricaney, or absent, because you & I know the clouds shift in form, in simultaneous shared time, & that sometimes our written or visual or spoken or demonstrated expression reveals to us our current, present form & we achieve the under-standing of our own existence, as we sometimes need to do, as you & at times go ahead & relax our eyes & cast them away, to eliminate the illusions, & we stop the music other’s lyrics, & we quiet down & power down, & we stop with the untangibles–the unrecordered voices, the unfilmed looks, the landfill destined napkin art–& we make permanent the things you & I know for some great purpose we know exists found, unfound, defound, profound, defound, befound, nonfound, refound, & that it’s like okay, it’s going to be okay, the colors don’t always have to have meaning, choices choices in the expression are made. The control of how they are recieved <- is in the moment of creation. It’s so easy; just do the best, abandon excess rest, fail every test, & perhaps head west, to the carving out of new beginnings on something as legitimate as a canvas, then maybe they will accept the–our–choice of non-edit, & only then a super deliberate act of throwing the canvas into the trash could be made, it then truly protected from everyone’s hands, including our own, to modify or destroy, or forget, truly then, “yes!” is or would our intention of tangible expression of simultaneous shared time be had, is had, at that time, at this time, on this day, on all of our future days. And there it is, the discovery of an evolution in medium, right before my eyes, your eyes, our I’s in this beautiful pursuit of the Present to reflect back on in the future for the purpose of expanding the then present through appreciation of art done with a growing master of intention unintentionally, so humanly, simultaneously, greatly weak & feebly strong, magnetically powerful & dutifully done, under the constraints given & the warnings & words of others as newness emerges from the rushing imbalance of our stories of the past, and it settles, & it rushes again twice thrice many times again the reinvention is had, the sacrifices are made, mostly of imagined ideals, peace is created and words begin to massage the neck of strained shoulders carrying a world’s weight without stable direction, & the words flow & flow, just like had promised they would, thousands & thousands, millions & visuals too & sound! All tangible, mostly, decreasing loss, and the map genuinely coming together, internally legitamizing itself, of a 44 network, just one so doomed & blessed to fall short of so much, to the hero who enters the lair & cares not, concerns himself not with the return of his slain dragon, if he slays it at all, which he will not, & in the darkness not one will see his print of foot in lit, full form, he having left to the simultaneous stay of increased abstraction, a wolf never truer than in the clothing of all these sheep. 1 2 3 4 5 6 8 9 10–and this is not to say the count ever stops, it is to say there is a high willingness & ability for the form to adapt & change to make best use of the container or space given. It’s unpredictable. And prepared. The changing colors do not signify different times of entry–it & they are simultaneous. They & it & this is done at the very same time, in the exact moment of consciousness. This is why a prolific body of unedited art is so beautiful. & it’s also why the concept [& how] of UNIVERSI is made possible: to capture a skilled, lengthy, & fully transparent consciousness perhaps will or does reveal truth about everyone & everything.
And there really is no better way to start a sentence than to start it with the word “and,” or at least this is how I’ve been feeling & thinking for at least a year, maybe two or three, or four; it’s been a while now & my love for And has grown, never diminished, always prized & always inclined to use. There’s a context here. This doesn’t mark the beginning of my body of words, neither that nor is it the end. “And,” recognizes its middle stage of inconclusive wordage, message, & point. It states there is a before, and the excess of words post-And with little to no movement in any stable direction hints with strong under & overtones that there is & will be many words to come, “millions,” & neither the weight of pre-And nor post-And fall on my shoulders, not anymore, never again, just this word right now & now. And if it’s not the word it’s the stroke of it, & the way my breath is or was during it, if my eyes were glazed & resting or are or were they reflecting the manic dreams blue, were they paying attention. “How are you feeling.” Without the story, really focus on the feeling, nothing else. Really just feel the feeling, accept it, feel it, & notice the space you immediately create. It’s like a miracle. Breathe & don’t think, just feel. & watch how quickly the edge of everything goes away. It just goes away; it just goes like a wished miracle. It goes in the sense the feeling of sadness no longer feels like the good ol’ crippling sadness I’ve known, the kind attached & anchored to the present, this kind is just a feeling & it’s cool for what is & how it assists these so right now carvings of this moment. & how these moments blend together because of this like wierd way we hold memories, & the way we naturally percieve the space and distance of things in relation to ti-me. Even weirder, or “wierder,” is how it all can be reduced to the electron, like how things are simultaneous, all of these states of perception, from the simple to the intensely complicated, all simultaneous, all simultaneous shared time. To the boring & the fictional & non & descriptive & to the general and to the personal & the visual and the micro & macro, to red & to blue, now green as middle, are all then now no wonder stability is never out there. 402 words, on canvas, with so many mediums available–paints, brushes, pens, pencils, paintmarkers, oil–with so much blank space, so many options, so many choices, without limits. & damn do we feel wonderful carving them out with words in cursive. This is our medium.