“did you fall from the sun?” he asked me. triggered memories, images – william blake, my personal icarus narrative, blinding love. no, i didn’t fall from the sun, but i clothe myself in her. searched myself to find the love within. darkness. Darkness. bobbing up and down in it. fighting a new and intense paranoia. maybe it’s contagious. “knock on wood and all the other elements.” I didn’t mean to step on your head, love.
this is my becoming.
I’ve been looking for different ways to take myself to the next level. I put the question out there, and the answer is always the same: you need to become silent. Confused, I kept on asking. I can’t deal with not being able to express. My personal histories have only taught me silence in response to violence.
I finally get it. I need to not speak. I need to take a vow of silence for a short period of time. And write myself through it. It’s going to be mentally intense, and I’m only beginning to prepare for it now. It will take me a while to become ready, but I know beyond the shadow of a doubt it’s something I need to do.
synchronicity on a crazy level. in constructed worlds, real life, virtual interactions, dreams. a lot of the symbolism is astrological and incredibly apt: aquarius, scorpio, saturn, orion. there’s been a lot of blood too. the music of nirvana, lou reed, david bowie, and burt bacharach. violent rhetoric: daggers, armour, protection, war. sense of destruction, but an understanding that clearing needs to happen in a final way for the new, which will now be all the more brighter. this dagger’s got me feeling like a warrior. ink has a strange way of being.
A couple of weeks ago, someone sent me photos taken of them. The photos were portrait shots, a beautiful, smiling woman celebrating her birthday, one summer afternoon in Toronto. But what struck me (and the reason I received the photos) was the couple in the background. Pure love, joy, and light. I could see it in the body postures, the gentle gestures, and the multicoloured auras my imagination filled in. Beauty is so fragile, fleeting.
The photos I was sent via email reminded me of a Duane Michals image that has resonated with me since the first time I came across it. And so I leave you with it: This Photograph Is My Proof (1967, 74)