A hole in the Earth
Or I am just not that into me anymore.
Suddenly there was a window like a hole in the earth an escalator or elevator that went own into a crusty menagerie of rotating crimson colored collages of elements like a funnel of mixed media sucking on my cortex and then it was blackened dark again.
Than a sign flickered hanging from a mental beam spelling it out in greenish hues
“Dimensions Variable” than a crazy strafing beam took over the scenery like a lightning bolt the evening sky.
Escape seemed not possible from this frame of reference all one could do was wait for the presentation to end.
The last decade is not dead yet; one more translucent year to go. Sure I am rushing it a little I am ready for 2011 where is Prince when you need him to write a song. I thought “1999” was brilliant and “2011” would catapult him passed the hip hop clowns back to the top of the charts now that M.J> disqualified himself by zombiing out way to early and took a pass on the future.
Suddenly I realize how indoctrinated I am like as if my skin is glowing with a symbol like a branded logo dating me tying me to a time frame, a fashion epoch, a cultural taste, a sexual preference, an art school category and I feel like the stale breath like as if the long dead from cancer Marlboro man is breathing right back up from the hell hole called my past.
I am shocked about what I am still carrying around in my mental cavity as if it were some expensive Louis Vinton language not the cheap K-Mart stuff I grew up with.
I have to listen to white noise now to be able to sleep because part of me is still like a Zombie rummaging through past encounters of the loving sucking un-kind type.
They say we have a symbiotic relationship with our past and everything led to where we are now and who we are now.
“What the fuck” I say this is neo- spiritual garbage and I wish I had this huge eraser that could wipe out every single encounter delete it from the book of death, the Arkashic record and the not so secret CIA files. The past is like an Albatross and right now I forgot why having an Albatross around ones neck is such a bad thing. Bjork was wearing a swan to the Oscars and it looked quite fetching.
Triangles everywhere, everything is made from triangles cut from card board boxes which once where used to ship green bananas from some African country to our westerns supermarkets so they can ripen under special lights to our specifications; ripen like under a high volutend lense that burns scars all over my future.
I stopped dating all together but also stopped dating my paintings long time ago and every show I have has always brand new art work because I just paint over it.
I remember seeing an x-ray of a Rembrandt and he had a whole different scenery underneath the shiny surface.
That’s how I feel about my present; you see one thing but there are thousands of other layers underneath which have built up my being. So I am laughing already imagining when someone in the distant future is going to x-ray my paintings, should they become an object of value, he’ll find a whole movie underneath it.
Movies sure have come a long way from the silent phase to the block buster filling theater phase in our days. I wonder if the catastrophes Nostradamus envisioned ,the glimpses he got of the future where actual Hollywood productions like the newest apocalyptic adventures titled simply “2012” that is hitting our mega-plexes right now with its catastrophic imagery staring John Cusack.
I sure would be terrible confused if I had this gift of sight of predicting the future to differentiate but this is just one of my crazy thoughts that only lead me to regret my past that failed to fit me out with any special gifts.
Of course I don’t regret anything especially not being alive but I am not getting anywhere. I don’t have a library named after me or a statue placed in the center of a town not even a billboard commercial that sports my visage and the history books that have not been written yet don’t know that I even exist.
I am just not that important and I am beginning to be just not that into me anymore.
My eyes are straying my mind is wandering inhabitating other peoples bodies playing role play trying on their skin and I am seriously contemplating to become a body snatcher and invade George Clooney’s body for a change in nervous system.
I am on nobodies radar thanks to my uneventful past with my mediocre predisposition handed down to me by my average parents with their lack of education and c-list gene stock.
I don’t despise them for it but it doesn’t make me want to celebrate or being proud of myself or wanting to spread my genetically inferior sperm.
Everything seems so flat in retrospect just like most of my new paintings that nobody wants they just try to trick you to make you think they are fresh and unique but there is no depth in it.
Maybe sculptor is more palatable it sure is more pliable just like my memory is more like a sculptor just standing there in the middle of my head and I can go around and around it like a mule in a mill for thoughts.
Is a memory a thought that lost its momentum and is now stored away so I can call it up or so it can pop up by itself at every inconvenient moment to torment me; calls itself up when I need to be reminded that what I thought ages ago but still hasn’t gone away.
Ages don’t go away they morph into newer ages lose their footing and become something we did in the past but are like pillars of our board walk we still continue to walk on while we keep to looking back as if something is stalking us.
Nobody wants to look back only painters like to look back at what others have painted before but the view is kind of obscured because taste has fogged up true vision.
I am not a specialist in any way or any of this but I am ambidextrous on my good days juggling as many tasks as I can while projecting, imagining that I am free of my past even though without it I wouldn’t exist.
It’s like my proof to somebody if they ask me who I am and I tell them about all the things I have done everything I did as far back as I can remember and I am surprised that I remember and dumbfounded because I didn’t know that I had it all stored away and it makes me feel like an idiot because I don’t really know where it is stored but it moves with me wherever I go and is ready when somebody asks.
I regurgitate my past like a penguin mother to feed its young chick sitting on an icy knoll in the nowhere where things don’t ever change unless we change them and the past melts away melts together with the waiting future just like icebergs melt during climate change creating a new climate and not many will be able to remember how it had been before the big melt.
Just as we don’t remember the past truly but it is more like Atlantis only a vague myths resurfaces but the good things is that we have the power in the present to flesh out what ‘s been lost in the translation.
I still recall vividly how vegetables tasted before they where radiated for consumption before we treated them like they needed to be artificially enhanced and genetically modified so that in the future our food supply can be sustained and we will never run out of cheap “Hamburgers” to eat.
My first memory of a Hamburger was horrible and I spit it out immediately. I was 2 years old and my mother had been too lazy to cook so she gave me one of these pre-processed delicacies but maybe it was the pickle they say Babies don’t like pickles and that the taste buds of Babies are not that sophisticate yet and still in a developmental stage that can be manipulated into liking Hamburgers in a later stage when one starts early and keep feeding them with lots of sugary ketchup.
There are so many stages we have to go through until you can look back and say “wow, that was it”.
If you are lucky you can still throw in a universal prayer to make sure everyone is going to welcome you on the other side where time is ticking ahead of itself but never looks back.
0 comments:
Post a Comment