it says that maybe it wants to step over the horizon. what is on the other side? could there be a land where the children play amongst the bones of dinosaurs, preserved for antiquity in stuffy rooms with bad lighting? is there an alley that is too thin, too dark, with a room at the end, a magical place?
so i found a place where the lines that lead to it and away somehow bend and break and come together in a peaceful spot. finally. after almost 2 years of searching, a place to sit.
Wihm: thats why i gotta have a theory on painting
Wihm: hahah
LIZZYNAT0R: well you never told me what it is
Wihm: so it is about something else
Wihm: well im not finished with it yet
LIZZYNAT0R: ok
LIZZYNAT0R: lemme know hwen you do
Wihm: i think that is has something to do with doing paintings about making people remember things, but things they only thik they remember
Wihm: like one that reminds you of a really nice sunset and a day that you spent in the summer, just doing things and not thinking about stuff too much
Wihm: i can do paintings like that sometimes, but i wanna do them more often and more powerfully
LIZZYNAT0R: ya
Wihm: like i want to do paintings that remind people of beautiful things
Wihm: so that when they look at it, in their heads they see beauty
Wihm: and the beauty of the painting becomes something more than just one thing, it each persons own memory of beauty
LIZZYNAT0R: yeah. that would be nice
Wihm: and each persons memory would of course be better than any painting i could do
LIZZYNAT0R: right i was just thinking, i could never paint anything that good
Wihm: cause it would be their own version of beauty
Wihm: yah
Wihm: so im gonna try to learn how to do some paintings that do that
Wihm: heheh
Wihm: im a big fan of beauty in life
so what was i sayin? oh yeah, theres this place where all the kids have been goin, a big well. you can jump in and fall and fall and fall and never hit the bottom, and somehow whenever you get tired or hungry or bored your back at the edge of the well, looking down. if you watch people, they sort of just fall into it slowly, and then sway back, but you can tell whats happened. the kids go there for hours and hours, and the sun beats down on their backs and the circkets play games on their legs, but they never get tired. i tried it once, and as i fell the wind was silent, the world was silent. the hot sun and the buzzing cicadas and the stinging grass all fell away slowly, as i descended in to that cozy cold abyss.
i stood at the edge of some pond in texas once, trying to understand what the kids were telling me. so theres all these different kinds of ants there, and this pile here and that pile there, if you put your hand into them theyll be all eaten up? thats nonsense. the dragonflies were all huge and the scene was all yellow. the ground in texas just dries up and cracks in the sun. all parched and dusty, somehow there was this pond, with crazy ant piles up to three feet tall all around it, on both sides, the kind that'll eat yer hand if you touch them, so theres no way you can get to the pond and have a swim or whatever. not that id have wanted to anyway, the way the sun lit up that space, and the way the bugs flew all around my face. it was just way too sinister, and i was always so hungry. how could someone think of swimming when their bellies were so small and empty? i think the real reason i ate that mixture the texas kids made up was not to go through with the dare, but more in hope that id be able to have some more food somehow.
hey hey now that i am at my moms house again its time to post some old writings i did wen i was a lil tot. heres a story(?) i wrote when i was 8:
"if i were a warlock"
if i were a warlock, i would create a dimensional gate that would link our world with another world. from that world i would get humongous monsters that would wreak havoc on the world. after everyone died, i would become immortal, destroy the gate, and destroy the remaining monsters.
when i am alone, i will go to far off places and do things like reviving the world to the way it was in the time of knights and castles. then, i would put in some people, dragons, and maybe a few monsters.
after a few centuries of this, i would come back to modern time.
"if i were a warlock"
if i were a warlock, i would create a dimensional gate that would link our world with another world. from that world i would get humongous monsters that would wreak havoc on the world. after everyone died, i would become immortal, destroy the gate, and destroy the remaining monsters.
when i am alone, i will go to far off places and do things like reviving the world to the way it was in the time of knights and castles. then, i would put in some people, dragons, and maybe a few monsters.
after a few centuries of this, i would come back to modern time.
i am so hungry and the only thing i can think of is a story about a man with dust on the inside of his elbows. the dust has gathered over the years, and it lightly coats his grizzled face, his rumpled suit which shakes off the layers every time he gets up to adjust the reception. he is alone is his world, and doesnt know for how long. the kids that come up to his house to play in the jungle out back very rarely try to see him, because of the malignant aura which emanates from all the windows. is this the fate of all abjurers? do conjurers have it better in life? the kids are happy swinging on the vines and the dust still settles slowly.
being depressed is like riding a wonderful whale round the world, it stops ad you get off to pick a few flowers, turn around and theres a typhoon.
all the sand is gone blown away, just rocky shores and the cry of gulls off in the distance. is this the place i once stood as a child?
is this the tidal pool where that bizarre creature clouded the waters with its ink? ive been in this place before, sometimes further down, sometimes not as much. its nice to know that the path only leads so far, that im still afraid to go round that last bend. its good to know that there are people that still care.
i used to walk down the beach singing bluegrass music to myself. there was no one else i knew there. maybe my father, but do i really know him? the skies were clear every day, and clear at night. i walked the beaches all day, from one end of the island to the other. i knew i had made a mistake. i had to pay.
in the ocean at night with the full moon reflecting off the water. a little fear of sharks. was that needed. the barracuda were definitely more fearsome. lying on a sandbar fully nude in the moonlight. thats how i feel better. nature is like a blanket that i pull over myself when i am afraid, it never changes, it is always free.
the city has lines which excite my mind in so many ways, reminding me of things i never saw, telling me things i never knew. when i walk i see so many small things.
i wish that i could be happy again.
i know there is more to life than this, ill find it. i must.
all the sand is gone blown away, just rocky shores and the cry of gulls off in the distance. is this the place i once stood as a child?
is this the tidal pool where that bizarre creature clouded the waters with its ink? ive been in this place before, sometimes further down, sometimes not as much. its nice to know that the path only leads so far, that im still afraid to go round that last bend. its good to know that there are people that still care.
i used to walk down the beach singing bluegrass music to myself. there was no one else i knew there. maybe my father, but do i really know him? the skies were clear every day, and clear at night. i walked the beaches all day, from one end of the island to the other. i knew i had made a mistake. i had to pay.
in the ocean at night with the full moon reflecting off the water. a little fear of sharks. was that needed. the barracuda were definitely more fearsome. lying on a sandbar fully nude in the moonlight. thats how i feel better. nature is like a blanket that i pull over myself when i am afraid, it never changes, it is always free.
the city has lines which excite my mind in so many ways, reminding me of things i never saw, telling me things i never knew. when i walk i see so many small things.
i wish that i could be happy again.
i know there is more to life than this, ill find it. i must.
i just finished playing ico, and it is a beautiful work of art.
i am drinking some mclan macgregor scothc, and it is a beautiful work of art.
i have a terrible cold, it is a beautiful work of art. i should capture the essence of my cold and sell it to an art collector.
seriously though, each siip of this scotch is like a precios little baby pony. it crawls ino my mouth and has a party, it keeps inviting its friends. how could i deny my precious little pony friends? they dont wanna be lonely. they wana have a happy easter in my belly. they just want to have a little easter party. not too many eggs hidden through my body. they all runnin around makin me giddy. 29 eggs.
i am drinking some mclan macgregor scothc, and it is a beautiful work of art.
i have a terrible cold, it is a beautiful work of art. i should capture the essence of my cold and sell it to an art collector.
seriously though, each siip of this scotch is like a precios little baby pony. it crawls ino my mouth and has a party, it keeps inviting its friends. how could i deny my precious little pony friends? they dont wanna be lonely. they wana have a happy easter in my belly. they just want to have a little easter party. not too many eggs hidden through my body. they all runnin around makin me giddy. 29 eggs.
when something is missing, but you dont know that its missing.
on a subconscious level, you hafta know. there hasta be suggestions of it. the pattern saying that it is not there just has not emerged. like when you leave for a trip and one thing is always forgotten. there should always be one thing missing?
when something is absent, its absence becomes an entity. more than a nothing, for if it were nothing it wouldnt be absent. it was definitely there, and its gone, or it definitely should be there. like someones hand, or the absence left by cutting someones hair. its very obvious, that absence, because there was always something there before to obscure what was behind it, and now that thing is showing through.
i want to know what it is called when there is a suggestion of absence. you've never been here, but it shouldnt be like this, it should be this. false hopes, expectations maybe. you expect it, an expected object. i think thats too close to absence, but along the right path. a pointing finger leads to an object, a shadow suggests a light source. what are those things that pull on the strings of memory. how can i catch the essence of a moving hand, or a smell that goes with a scene, like an apple orchard in the fall.
there are colors enough, thats certain. and the open space is there to have that thing that is beyond suggestion and absence. what are the lines that make your eyes move along familiar paths. how do we look at water? do we gaze at it, do we watch it. our minds are elsewhere, maybe being called to sea. an up and down motion to follow the waves. more circular and triangular. the hand drawings suggest thats true. whats the way we remember the dust that built up on those speakers. the touch of hands and laughter and squeals. that was circular enough yes.
i can tell you a memory, but id rather just let you remember it. let you feel those feelings i felt, so you can understand me as a person more, so i will be a little less alone.
the broader i cast the net, the weaker the catch.
a figure above me, its frustrated and angry.
the warmth of those bodies on either side of the bench. i remember light blue and pigeons.
a laugh and a skip down the brightly lit hall while i lie in darkness not understanding anything at all. shes my sister i think, and thats her friend, but did i interpret that later.
another time in the dark with a bloody nose, and no knowledge at all of what is real and not. they are fighting, i think im choking on my own blood.
a bloody nose that wont stop for hours, sitting in a mildewy attic, scared. this is too much.
i found a glazed, grey rhinoceros beetle in the parking lot of the local community college the morning after my mother had a mental breakdown and told me and my sister our father was coming to get us with an ax. to me that beetle was something good, a sign that things could become normal again. my memories of the night before are all very hazy, i remember being woken up, a flight to our neighbors house, where they had a painting of a small child/demon on the wall. definitely a very frightening thing to see on a night when my mother is babbling incoherently about danger and hell. i had a bloody nose, probably from the stress, and i remember it bleeding for hours. it couldnt have really been that long, but it seemed like it would never dry up, despite all the tricks i tried.
its silly for me to act like people dont know enough about shitty things in my life and they dont care. i just dont say everything. hahah. i just realized i never talked about that to anyone. to me it was not that important of a night. my mother had been crazy for a while, promising kittens and puppies all summer, trying too hard to make to teenage kids happy about being in a terrible place where they were all outcasts. i remember finding that beetle so much more clearly than any of the things before it, i always wanted a bunch of insects to have as a collection, and now i had my second fancy glazed beetle. i was even sad years later when it fell all to pieces, despite the fact that it could only conjure up bad memories.
on a subconscious level, you hafta know. there hasta be suggestions of it. the pattern saying that it is not there just has not emerged. like when you leave for a trip and one thing is always forgotten. there should always be one thing missing?
when something is absent, its absence becomes an entity. more than a nothing, for if it were nothing it wouldnt be absent. it was definitely there, and its gone, or it definitely should be there. like someones hand, or the absence left by cutting someones hair. its very obvious, that absence, because there was always something there before to obscure what was behind it, and now that thing is showing through.
i want to know what it is called when there is a suggestion of absence. you've never been here, but it shouldnt be like this, it should be this. false hopes, expectations maybe. you expect it, an expected object. i think thats too close to absence, but along the right path. a pointing finger leads to an object, a shadow suggests a light source. what are those things that pull on the strings of memory. how can i catch the essence of a moving hand, or a smell that goes with a scene, like an apple orchard in the fall.
there are colors enough, thats certain. and the open space is there to have that thing that is beyond suggestion and absence. what are the lines that make your eyes move along familiar paths. how do we look at water? do we gaze at it, do we watch it. our minds are elsewhere, maybe being called to sea. an up and down motion to follow the waves. more circular and triangular. the hand drawings suggest thats true. whats the way we remember the dust that built up on those speakers. the touch of hands and laughter and squeals. that was circular enough yes.
i can tell you a memory, but id rather just let you remember it. let you feel those feelings i felt, so you can understand me as a person more, so i will be a little less alone.
the broader i cast the net, the weaker the catch.
a figure above me, its frustrated and angry.
the warmth of those bodies on either side of the bench. i remember light blue and pigeons.
a laugh and a skip down the brightly lit hall while i lie in darkness not understanding anything at all. shes my sister i think, and thats her friend, but did i interpret that later.
another time in the dark with a bloody nose, and no knowledge at all of what is real and not. they are fighting, i think im choking on my own blood.
a bloody nose that wont stop for hours, sitting in a mildewy attic, scared. this is too much.
i found a glazed, grey rhinoceros beetle in the parking lot of the local community college the morning after my mother had a mental breakdown and told me and my sister our father was coming to get us with an ax. to me that beetle was something good, a sign that things could become normal again. my memories of the night before are all very hazy, i remember being woken up, a flight to our neighbors house, where they had a painting of a small child/demon on the wall. definitely a very frightening thing to see on a night when my mother is babbling incoherently about danger and hell. i had a bloody nose, probably from the stress, and i remember it bleeding for hours. it couldnt have really been that long, but it seemed like it would never dry up, despite all the tricks i tried.
its silly for me to act like people dont know enough about shitty things in my life and they dont care. i just dont say everything. hahah. i just realized i never talked about that to anyone. to me it was not that important of a night. my mother had been crazy for a while, promising kittens and puppies all summer, trying too hard to make to teenage kids happy about being in a terrible place where they were all outcasts. i remember finding that beetle so much more clearly than any of the things before it, i always wanted a bunch of insects to have as a collection, and now i had my second fancy glazed beetle. i was even sad years later when it fell all to pieces, despite the fact that it could only conjure up bad memories.
when i was riding the train through the land of plastic toy houses i remembered what had put me there. the sun was glistening off of the hard lines of red and yellow, and the image of a hamburger mask bought at a revco for halloween. what a terrible idea, dressin up as food for halloween. like the spirits of rotten meat and discarded soggy fries were going to haunt the world that day, and by wearing a little toy mask i could trick them into thinking i was one of their own. i mean, i could have been, with my moth eaten sweater and my shoes made of cardboard, held together with duct tape. i could have gone without the mask even, and just wandered the sidewalks in my grey and green, and the other little kids would be laughed at taunted by the spirits of celery and spilled kool aid, but i would have been honored, eternally walking on hallowed ground.
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