Journal 12.27.24
Sitting here the pen hovering. Yes it’s been many weeks since I’ve… what exactly? Since I’ve spoken to you. Though this has its way of making me feel like we’re having a conversation, dear reader. You and me. This is no diatribe. No parade of ingenious thought. Though who among us is not a genius? Shriveled up in some quiet corner grasping. I know nothing and I’d like to keep it so. I’ll keep my sense of wonder that always has me on my knees. But things have begun to pass through me. Images I see. In the eyes and out through fingertips or camera or… I know nothing and sure you may push me and if I’m weak enough I may blather some opinion or other but I don’t believe it these words drooling from my chin I have questions only questions only questions an infinity of questions I have no answers only images. Considerations. They could not even be called provocations though how often do people accuse me of that? Yes often. Of course Art provokes life provokes what doesn’t provoke? But I don’t care about that. I see something I feel something I drink its pithy drips down down down and I lacerate myself it oozes back out back into the world. Can I separate my happinesses from my sorrows? No. It’s time for settling down. Like a bear. I think there are some people you can never really know.
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