I feel lost. There are too many streams of thought to follow and too many questions unanswered, I just can't seem to grasp on to anything. There is too much sound, too many emails I should answer, too many people I should talk to, visit or introduce myself to. I am hungry.
I've been drawing and painting a bit with watercolours, i've hung a few plastic balls on the wall and a lemon-squeezer. I like the colour, which at the same time makes me nauseated. Ugly thoughts fly through my brain and it's a bit like I am being squeezed. My work is lacking in nature of a life force and a bloodline. This is the dip, the dip I always fear, the one I am petrified of. I know rationally that it will pass and something new is bound to happen; an epiphany will emerge and that I will be lost again, but in a completely different way.
I miss me.
I've been contemplating shapes and medicinal plants, colour combinations and maps. Sound in my art is dead today. Its a high pitched emptiness that makes your ears ping and close. I come to my studio and watch the walls. I hang different things up that I think seem interesting only to take them down and place them elsewhere. I want to visit a hardware store to buy materials I can't afford. To sell my ideas and float down an easy stream of corporate reality. I am bored with my own rants and skeptical of people who support me. I wish I could do anything else, but I cant and I wont and deep down I would not wish to.
The skin on my left palm is peeling but the right is as it ever was. This duality this split in my persona my physical being confuses me. For the first time in a long time I don't feel like reading. I'm sleeping 12 hours a night and wake up weary. I am not ill and I am not in any way physically affected, other then my left palm losing excess skin. Perhaps the skin is jumping ship, bored by me and things I am trying to create. There are a lot of decisions that need to be made. I need less sleep.
