11.11

11.11.22

There is a shock: isolation shifts to all-in. Another fitful night of pain and twitching, I finally got to sleep around 5 AM; five hours later someone lodged a complaint that I sleep too much. It’s ALL too much. A shopping trip left me somewhat disturbed–I need to burrow deeper down in my hidey hole, step away from all the woo woos and turmoil. Just manifest. Don’t advocate. Feeling my connection to the recent past dwindle and dwindle, enforced by a recent spate of coughing up goobers, very unbecoming. Sawdust from sanding, maybe acacia wood. The bliss of working with my hands, painting the roofing house, and then the floor, the stencils. But what for? Just making something real is enough. Activity is life.

Another October gone without an escape to the wilderness. Spending time at home with old photos and memories–attempting to flesh out this other blog–Travels With Stevie–is erratic. Reading how I pine for the desert, how alive and real I feel there, the sublime sense of home, is heartbreaking. And (leaving out the agony and distraction of a partner’s drinking) the perfect life of lavender dawn and morning chorus of my favorite birds, and driving, driving, through open vistas, into the remote fastness of juniper forests, cool mountain air, and brilliant clear desert hot springs.

All the photographs, all the paintings I want to do, sort of a relief that there is a finite number of trips to review and record, that suddenly stops in 2011. Oh, the horror. Do I just tear out pages of pain and misery? Or can I paint over them? Depends on the quality of the paper, I guess, and how it takes to the media, it’s all experiment, discovery, adventure, even now.

Newspapers–what good are they?

No real appeal to the outside world in my present life, but I need a getaway, a private place of my own–Oh! Here it is! At home–total peace and solitude. Not getting bogged down in loss, but true gratitude for purging all, releasing all, and the beautiful core of me, of what I have lived, left inviolate.

Dunno if I wrote that, or copied it from somewhere. Likely, both. Cool.