The heat grew after the last post. I've been inside a few days, as I have no important errands to run, so the only way I understand the weather is water droplets on the windowpane, a darker toned wooden fence, whether branches whip or graze the roof and of course how often the house air conditioning turns. If not just for the AC, but I have to temper it is set high, so the temperature outside must be unbearable. No rain and hardly any clouds. The sun has gone down and the temperature is dropping. Still I know those late hot nights we get approaching August will cause any desire to talk through the night to increase. Virtual and illusive company ever important in fending off the tears from being uncomfortable. The breeze is catching my neighbors tall tree in his front yard. From this angle I can enjoy the undulating rhythm of the branches. As a result it is not quite cabin fever that make me sad today and I can bear no air conditioning in my truck for another year.
Prologue:
(For a nice person and the reason why is because you asked.)
Um. I'll just write this and not try some literary maneuver that would make Dostoyevsky proud. Just to rationalize; when my mouth opens agape at artistic endeavors and lives my points evolve not just from visual work, but also written and performance act. If I figure it out in my head, creating images flows after a couple of months. It is the synthesis of experience and exercise that make the piece, the concept and the presentation. Living an artlife is just as much about the mundane as it is the compelling. So please don't mind me when I talk about a little rock I picked up in front of the Winspear Opera House. After the sketches and attendance, after the completed pieces and invitations lost, that rock is the last concrete thing I have to connect myself to a place, a time and a moment. Triggers perhaps? Or the only precious I have from Dallas right now. The good memories, the embarrassing ones and the tales of quiet glory that never grace paper. That is my black spotted pebble and even if I forget, the spiral stone tower above my head will be one of my greatest fascinations.
Meanwhile, in the back of my head I have to tell you about a book by Silvia Brown I read. This a bit of a decade ago, when I dabbled in shadows and metaphysics only to find my way out to a home in Christ. So, metaphysical laws aside I got to her books at the height of her popularity. One section on dreams was to help you explore your subconscious and to wake up and take control inside of your dreams. The main technique was to remember to ask a question of the participants in your dream. It question were "where is the library and can you take me there?" The goal was to get to the Akashic Records which house every bit of information about our planet. From people to things and climatology from centuries ago, the record is there, all you have to do is get access. Should you need help in understanding your life and where you are going, asking for your book of life was the next goal.
So, thus and so, here is the beginning of unedited entries from a journey that took a little over a year and a day.
They are from my dream journal I kept for a few months and assorted years, till I lost interest. Now I have a small task to jar my memory to pen them to paper. Usually I had about fifteen minutes in the morning to work after waking. So, consider the abbreviate spellings and contractions a product of that. As I start to piece this thread together, I may have a conclusion out of the gathered interpretations. I'll post more later. With that may come daymares, automatic writing and stream of consciousness yields as I look over other journals written during the same period. If I can make sense of it and understand my life lived in a different light, screaming EUREKA, might be heard across state lines. This is getting fun. Either way, I'll keep you posted. Enjoy the notes and the night.
Jan 10, 2004
Last night Jan 9, 2004
Friday
wk of full moon passed
1) Asking for the library and my book of life. Walmart/large store maybe like Walgreen or Ekerds but seemed like mucho space. Standing in a row. shelves come up to my breasts/shoulders but I can see over them see a woman looking at me. Caucasian, brunette, older, glasses, curly bob. Other ppl walking around shopping (I guess) seem like a generic version of a person much like the shopping undersea dream. I asked (yelling) "Take me to the library", "where is the library"? I can't remember what she said, but a door way opened up where some display was and she took me up stairs (white/blue/green) Did not make out what the products were in the shelves.
2) Been here B4 Interrogated by priest in a small room. seems as if a dorm room for a monk? (white, wooden furniture) Also a man in Popely(?) gurd. Ask Asking. Asking they figured out it was me and asked why I came back. I did not anws that Q. I ask for the library and my book of life. Lead out of the room by the Popely well garbed one. walls (brown ones) moved to the right. Upstairs to the left of the room. Top of stairs desk. 3 ppl I remember a woman. Some odd reason I began asking "what language do you speak?" French on Thurdays. They laughed. I asked (was it me? or the host?) for the art history library. A door behind them opened A vault perhaps?