I tried to travel through time but it didn’t work.
Perhaps I look foolish. I don’t feel silly. I started to do some stylistic stuff, which gave me a bit of a spark, doing things differently, and a little more thoughtlessly, more about flow. Trying something different.
I obviously still want to be artistic but I just seem to want to write right now and not so much music. It’s the thrill of just banging it out, I just write so much now, and now I’m starting to think about how it works out, because I must be getting better. And some stage you breakout and evolve and I saw what I was doing just before as changing and progressing, and perhaps bringing more art, more flourish, more illustration and less kind of navel gazing, boring, petulant, y’know, whatever, nonsense.
I think it’ll help my art, because I am looking for something more and I can’t see it . . . yet.
But this is where I am searching.
People might read it, I don’t know. It’s not a big deal. To me I think I said that blogging is like sparring, I’m getting in here, playing with ideas, learning to let ideas flow, because I definitely see how writing and music and video are coming together, and for me it’s most suitable to do what I do.
I don’t really make awesome music. That doesn’t mean it’s not any good, it’s not incredible. Who cares? I make it because I can. I write this here because otherwise I wouldn’t be and it wouldn’t mean anything if I chose to spend this time sitting lost in my thoughts instead of at least trying to wrestle and box with them here and now.
Does that mean I have to make people like my writing now? Do I think I’m a writer? Damn. Hope not. I just hope that people will see that I refuse to not have my own buzz going on, and I will always do something.
In 2 of my time travelling episodes um stuff happened. Or well something. I was experimenting.
In the first episode I went full blown and traced it once agian back to heavy vibes that demanded my attention, and made no sense. It was possibility whether it a sea or a desert, drowning or dehydrating, something was . . . who would lie back, I fought.
Will strange metaphors be strung into a lifeline?
In the second episode I was packing a sad over some relativity issue and trying to come back to earth or something. I guess I’m just trying new ways to free my mind.
I think you can worry about your image, or allow yourself the freedom to be yourself.
When I was younger and all this was happening I had very bold ideas that perhaps weren’t that stupid. I never thought about money, I didn’t have any.
Did the limits of existance have to be so rigid and arbitrary, was it so indulgent to defy it, was art the only way to board the spaceship to another dimension?
Was it just a pretty toy, a bubble making machine to delight you?
Did I work out now that it is the stories, the endless churning gears that create that heavy force, that pressure on the soul, of narrative, of destiny, of all paths having ends of all possibilities having resolution, of happy endings, or of endings of any scrutability at all?
And so I write, and I wonder what a beat or scene I filmed can really say?
Is it okay to say it was a tigers penis? Is it okay to have a metaphor and then dump it, cut it away, disgard it?
It’s my story I only need to know what I want to say and then choose how I say it.
But writing dumb blogs isn’t anything anyone cares about. Who cares, I’m only sketching, only meditating only weighing different measures and lots. Let me think, what confidence can you have in anything important that is rushed?
