Decorations

journal entry

mixed media 13”x17”

I remember a morning in october when I was on a ridgeline and felt the rocky earth on my tired feet. early mist and impressions of colors decorated my eyes. there was a cluster of turkey making their way up a steep hill that I thought were deer from their confident strides and urgency. I wondered if anything was watching me and how far north it was to the lake and where my place was in this massive geological unfolding of fossils piled up underneath me. the night before I glimpsed purple color washes flooding the walls of my bedroom from the top of the cracked door and felt an overwhelming dopamine rush as these pigments cascaded into my psyche. and it was ecstasy but something in me knew it would be temporary and I would come down...and then it all gets quiet and I feel like someone is giving me a sign or warning somewhere beyond the disguise of this timeline I find myself in. I see a large sarcophagus where I now lay coated with hieroglyphics and other sacred scrawl. colors black and green and purple and brown. primeval eyes on me of creatures that are all knowing and welcome me without judgement. 
...a storm is coming and everyone is hopeful there will be no school tomorrow...more unraveling...dream about having to perform an 11 minute drum solo...beating time into perfection if only for the release. drumming meant a lot to me when I was younger and I could beat the shit out of things and that suited me just fine for a while and I was able to sculpt a young identity from it. its hard to remember those days but muscle memory helps me find these worn paths and sometimes I wake myself up with my hands recalling old rhythms or stick patterns locked somewhere in my head—and youre there too. the wind outside reminds me of when I would visit oswego and find you up on the roof of your apartment waiting for me. it was a dangerous winter then but we didnt care. there was rarely a worry then. lately Ive been thinking about my foolish perception of how safe I always felt in the world—
now my dog is getting fat and I have to remind myself to feel the ground under my feet. sometimes the nighttime feels like a threat to these recollections and I'm left bare.