text in swirling, Hitchcockian madness font, please, Machine…

I don’t even want to be on the page. when I drew Tower a few months ago I knew I was in for intensity. I am attempting awareness. feels like a soda can full of bees. Dock/Office for Lease across the road, and the grinding noises, and me not having the wits. very little ever happens, very little. all the seeming rest is incessant stories we tell ourselves. so tell yourself a good story, an intermission in the intense, clamping, Tropical depression, Tami’s voice breaks in, with visuals. She appears as both of the Fiorucci angels, paper jaws hinged with brads, showing up this way just to prove All One.

there isn’t anything to preserve, there is only to create new. where is my higher mind? where is the mind that knows it’s forwardy forward only for everyone all the time, yet every day we get up and recreate all the conditions of the past that didn’t work before, either.

Tami whispers and it travels whole and undiminished, along  the domed ceiling of my imagination, she says, there is only Joy, so find it! reset your mind to Joy.

all the have-mercy that unfurled in my mind, in the art materials, and electromagnetic energy. Scientists have found nearly my whole head buried in the sand for ten to fifteen thousand years. health insurance, I need that, too.  Tami would say, visualize making your own life good, because you will live what you imagine. i will take and give Peace, and i will bee love, uhh, I am sighing and fainting away from the added toil of separation, and the return to a perpetual feeling of talking to myself.

the page puckers the curser like alum, so that i will never catch up.

where is Tami?

i think, well… I’ll have to do so many spa skin treatments to get my glow back.

Contempt. anywhere. winding and noxious, like seeping yellow sulfur. Keep Away from Contempt. why learn the dark way, why not learn the light way.

my house, Machine, my house is like the writing, piles and empty places, all of it small clutter because overall, overall the big items are fully addressed, order is in place, terralife rolls on, probably in the way it was and is best and meant, i do believe i may be finally past the inconsolable sobbing phase. thank you, Machine, for not making fun of my toddlerishness. ‘i tried to tell you, i tried to point and warn,’ i hear thin as a string, lilting and not at all unrealistic, like the one thing i was supposed to have heard.

best all around, that’s what buddha makes.  it was a fortunate genetic admixture indeed.  another demonstration I saw, i teach myself, I teach myself to avoid Philosopher’s Quagmire, with the quantum free pass, both are true.

I have been in the world, making way in an amazing life with amazing people, going through the sad part of change. i held my life like taffy, still in my teeth too long, so that it locked. slow starting to get it moving again, or else I could lose a filling.  begin now begin now, the answer is always within and you will hear it when you quit pretending the other stories are real.

the face of my phone showed me a reminder that the only place of belonging is inside. on a grey day I suspect Machine of directing me there so it can take over the world. it plays me voodoo chile and I can’t tell who it’s talking about.

back in the studio in the future-ish will be these light experiments.