an american dream of whiskey and starlight, the cool breeze through your hair. memories are what i am made of, because they are the only imagery that is solid enough for me to really grasp. sometimes if i am lucky i can mold a hunk of bronze in my mind, create an image powerful enough to stay there forever, maybe rusting and getting covered in bridshit and leaves, but permanent nonetheless. as i lied near the river passing between the past and the future i grasped at the fibers of who i am. pulling them all tight and trying to braid it all into a rope i can use to tie down my dreams.
a small harbor for launching boats. needlefish are always there, the water has always been that same murky green, the color of a swimming pool that no one will ever bother to clean. he was always getting frustrated so easily, i hope the same doesnt apply to me.
in life i try to do what comes natural.
i try to do the things i want to.
i am learning as i go many different things, there is no way i can communicate what i think. there is no way i can say what my hopes are, what my dreams are. does that make them less important. does that mean i am doomed to obscurity. is there any other doom to have. it has been reported that all of the people that have been like me before have done what i am doing, swum into the trap of freedom gladly, seeing something they thought the others did not see. is it really something the others did not see or perhaps just something they know to avoid, it is a promise which can never be fulfilled.
i try to do the things i want to.
i am learning as i go many different things, there is no way i can communicate what i think. there is no way i can say what my hopes are, what my dreams are. does that make them less important. does that mean i am doomed to obscurity. is there any other doom to have. it has been reported that all of the people that have been like me before have done what i am doing, swum into the trap of freedom gladly, seeing something they thought the others did not see. is it really something the others did not see or perhaps just something they know to avoid, it is a promise which can never be fulfilled.
when people are tired do they lose that part of themselves that controls all those things that are flying around in their heads, all those ropes and nooses and twine and hooks that keep those bubbles and balloons and fish and feathers down? do the skies become cloudy and grey? does a chill wind rush through the windows of their eyes and shake loose all those lines of thought that tie down their repressed feelings, setting them free and letting them rampage throughout the world?
sometimes it seems like my life is just meant as a way to feel these certain days. these days when the air is crisp and the sun is bright. when i can feel the wind blow like crazy and hear the rustling of the leaves. there is so much beauty in the way these colors look, so much that i wish i could emulate for others to see, so that others would see something beautifully unreal, and say "that can't be real" and then notice that it is real in subtle ways. so that people notice more around them. because i think thats whats good in life. those one second memories of splashing water with a stick, the way that the folds of a dress fell around someone i once knew, the touch of a hand. if i could make a all of things visual i would, and i know damn well i'm gonna try.
lying under the dark sky is important.
eating ginger and garlic and bananas too.
wearing comfy clothes is important.
hearing a good song sung by a good voice is important.
looking at something very very close is important.
touching things is important.
having a joke for only one other person is important.
making up new styles is important.
staying up all night to talk about the important and obvious things in life is important.
exploring local habitats is important.
playing with toys is important.
i know theres more but i cant remember.
remembering good days is important.
eating ginger and garlic and bananas too.
wearing comfy clothes is important.
hearing a good song sung by a good voice is important.
looking at something very very close is important.
touching things is important.
having a joke for only one other person is important.
making up new styles is important.
staying up all night to talk about the important and obvious things in life is important.
exploring local habitats is important.
playing with toys is important.
i know theres more but i cant remember.
remembering good days is important.
the dirt on my arms is so thick that the bumps where goosebumps appear are light now.
the light from the blowtorches is really cool looking in the light from the setting sun, five green streams edged with purple, occasionally flaring up into bright blinding orange.
whenever the flame goes out the fumes smell delicious, like some food that i once smelled at the dinner table but i was too short to see what it was. i know the smoke must be terrible for me, as terrible as the tar coating my hands, but i really feel like i have done something worthwhile this week.
whenever the flame goes out the fumes smell delicious, like some food that i once smelled at the dinner table but i was too short to see what it was. i know the smoke must be terrible for me, as terrible as the tar coating my hands, but i really feel like i have done something worthwhile this week.
i have this self destructive streak about a mile wide. i dunno why. mebbe cause im bored of being bored, but mebbe im just crazy. i feel really crazy the last couple days, like i can touch my ideas and they are around me and the currents of life they eddy so fast and i dunno what to do. i got this damn headache yesterday and it wont go away i rub and sleep and eat but nothing. i love the paintings i do in dreams, they are so funny and so dramatic sometimes. i love drama and life so much its absurd, i wish i could fill up a bathtub with it sometime, all that sadness and and you sit there, you know, in a chair just looking around, cause there's nothing you can do. sometimes staring at a picture of a duck, or a marsh or something, everyone always has one of those pictures of a marsh or a duck, a little shack up in the woods, as if theyd really like to stop driving around in theyre taurus or theyre saturn or watever, and just get back to a simpler time where life was even more painful and boring and loving and shorter than today. i dunno, why not just do it. im sure it wouldnt be hard to just rip off your clothes, go screaming of west like a comet into the boundaries of space, mindless but free in that cold cold beyond. some of them reach other systems eventually, eventually come back to a place where the neon signs show you the highway strips where your every need can be satisfied with only the slightest variation of taste or decor. the youth know those places are home instinctively and park their cars in circles and flirt and fight and lie and cry and create the stories that will rule their lives forever in that town. theyre memories are tied to those lots, remember when that was a publix, remember the old lowes. driving by years later they will still remember all those nights spent there, and both they and theyre kids will look at those lots longingly, both wanting to be there for the same reason, but in different times.
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.
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.
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