that damn witching hour

 

I could be Louise in the car sailing to my doom with Thelma as I write this from my phone 

but no, I am alone and contemplating that thought 

I know there is a flow between my “live work journey” as I alter it into drama as a living allegory; some is real, some isn’t but every detail has a point

So maybe what is happening now …. I should —turn it over to the dictionary for ….guidance because it guides in other ways as it maps the story —what about in real life?

well, darling…. it just always goes this way, doesn’t it? while I will not say, as is my way 

and instead use my drama and fiction….my symbols? my mythology? to say ….only I can’t —not now, no, I wish I could but I know one day if I make it out, that is; so camouflage —I mean, it is always something like this and now it is this and something else which is the cause of what is hampering the whole purpose of my life…. the project. It would be one thing if this was a new situation but no, it’s the same one that keeps happening ….Shit, Electra…. what to do…. And, if anything —it has allowed me —let me ….hit pause to think about my original purpose and intention; and why give that up….

it is the fragility of the artist ….I don’t think people quite understand 

if they are not also this way ….why does the individual turn to an altered place to think in; no—to BE in —the writer, the visual artist, the performing artist, musician, animator —any creator who works in another “realm”

it is —I suppose, a way to subjugate emotions or filter them through a kind of altered tonal landscape ….because it is safe

for some. I mean. Anyway. because it allows a release, it is a freedom to pretend it is not you at all …. it is not you at all

it is…. 

we paint a pretty screen

—it is you*

that is a form of intellectualizing those terrifying shadowy corners of mortal existence; this agonizing experience we live…. we think and feel and talk about what they gloss over and completely miss 

those people don’t live in this world and their world is filled with smog and pollution

I can’t live in their world.disasters everywhere, but there’s one that nobody can see; quietly, rupturing and burning; silently, and ….still people walk over them; they are just road kill to them. so tired of the people who prey upon —those; when they could have chosen not to