Comme un peintre qui voit sous ses doigts naître les couleurs du jour.

... Et qui n'en revient pas ...

Warning: Before reading this post, wait at least 15 minutes after eating, giving birth, or hatin' on a mofo. Don't give (y)our mind a cramp : \

Ask (m)any quantum physicists, philosophers, psychologists, andor friends ...whether armchair/grant supported/other... you might hear that we create the world as we perceive or imagine it -- metaphorically and literally.

Hopes and dreams and wants and fears and will -- maybe this is the stuff dreams are made of. Hey, maybe it's the stuff stuff is made of.

I don't subscribe to time (the magazines, the concepts) and am not terribly upset with my habits of making choices in consideration of matters that may be said to lie in my relative past or future. As I see, If I see, maybe neither direction is necessarily clearer or more accessible.

So, it may be that at times I'll touch on matters that I haven't learned of (yet) or that went on before I was around, or before anyone alive was around, or before anyone ever was around. It may be that I'll bring up something for which I have no apparent context, and it may be that until/since the time comes for the notions to catch up to the context in some other foo, it'll all be quaint art and bull for most practical purposes.

No, I won't claim to read minds or see the past or see the future or see ... anything, really -- but if I suggest that we may be no less influenced by what may be than we are by what may have been ... or if I suggest that we may be on a daily and even continuous basis confronting eddies and flows of our future and past or that the nature of being and choice itself might even depend on this sort of temporal incest... well, then. Fuck me, I'm screwed!

Cuz I wouldn't suggest any of that.

That's just crazy talk. Mental diarrhea.

Y'all just flush and mosey on.


Here's the beef:


I'm getting carried away in the fruit of my choices. I'm working in and on and through what some people continue to call "big things" and it's overwhelming and welcoming and comfortable and beyond me. As it seems it has needed to be for some time. And this flow is so sweet.

So, my work is art to me. My will-babies and thought-kids have been growing into practical toddler-group-notions, team efforts, and community endeavors. They've been sustained on the kindness of strangers and some kind of will. Beautiful people and difficult, necessary choices all day every day. It's fun, and there aren't words for the bits that stand out most to me as "yes *nod*".

And so, these Joe Dassin lyrics of "Et si tu n'existais pas" (If you didn't exist) ... well they stand out now as they have since Inessa first played that cassette in the '90s, back when Alla and I had time and inclination to talk -- as accessible reflections of some sense of getting lost in one's own creation. Even if only for a time.

Let the judges call it selfish, or privileged or genius or crucial or healthy or wtf or masturbatory or wtf.... the artist who painted the image I've posted above (without explicit permission, mind you! oh, know!) liked Sweet Honey in the Rock's song-expression "We Are" and I'll just say that it fits.

It fits, the notion that we should^* be taken in by our works, our art, our creativity -- it fits with the notion that we are ourselves creations, the stuff of dreams, the hopes of others long past or yet to be, that we should^* at once and ever be creating and created and creators and at any moment... look in-side or out-side and see ourselves being painted, even as we paint.

(This isn't quite what that Dassin song's apparently ....about... it's more written along the lines of someone who's expressing love and destiny and that even in a world that might exist without his ..destinée... his actions and life might somehow be bent in her would-be direction, he'd effectively create her if she didn't exist, and he'd be lost in his creation of her. Acceptance, acknowledgement, imposition of fate and dedication....something along these lines)

Every choice we make just might be every choice that will ever have been made, when it's all said and done, if it's ever all said and done.

As shady and tough and skew and unsummarizable and fruitful and suiting and refreshing and moving as what I'm working on is, I love it. I'm doing what I'm moved to do, what I'm called to do, what I choose to do, what I must do. I love me, too, and golly ... maybe even you! And this thing that I do, is totally in keeping with that. Even where I stumble, I don't fall. Even where I fall, I get back up, count my leg(s), get my silli butt up and get there. Absolutely-Grinning.

;) "and I can die when I'm done"

*=(subjunctive "should". Don't look at me for what you should or shouldn't do, punks.)