the quietness of my indecision,
the lack of doing for the sake of uncertainty
the imaginary conversations in my head with real people

it does not exist but between the mundane repetitions of life
it is the world of nothing and of nobody
it is where I stand and where I sit

my ear rings with the sound of silence
my inspiration slowly circling down the drain
my eyes glued to the two dimensional screen as they
become more and more unfocused to the distance at length

The days off are a ticking time bomb to the days on
And everything in between is in between

I suspect someone has it out for me, probably the same person who sneaks into my house and moves things around, just to mess with my head. I’m sure of it, just as sure as I am that someone is always watching me through the crack in the window shade or following me in my car. I’m always a little disappointed when the car I think is following me turns. (Shoot, no stalker today.) Of course I don’t really believe this to be true- but I think about it. Even when I was young swimming in Grandpa’s pool- I was sure a shark or something hideous was going to come out of the filter at the bottom of the pool. I always stayed away from it, and avoided touching it at all cost- that thing was creepy.

I’m sure there is a hidden camera in public restrooms, right where the vent in the ceiling is- and it’s always directly above the stall I’m in, covered in dust- nice disguise I think. I used to make faces at it- give the pervo on the other end a laugh.

Of course I don’t really believe this, not really… but I think about it.

I have stopped believing that when appliances, or cars or anything man made breaks that it’s personal- that ain’t supernatural, that’s mechanics. (But that doesn’t mean you slack on it- you got to take care of your crap or you can’t be too surprised when your shit doesn’t work any more.)

I think that when I randomly have an intense memory or feeling about somebody that they are in turn thinking about me- we’re connected through time and space for a few fleeting moments. And when weird things happen to me, the kind that seems sinister, I get a sneaky suspicion that someone who thinks badly of me is behind the sinister act. I don’t know if its just coincidence- but something smells fishy and it ain’t me.

I believe in karma and what comes around goes around way too much to wish bad on someone else. It’s almost superstitious, but wishing someone ill has no benefit to me, and most of the time has the reverse effect. Life sorts out the good and the bad with no rhyme or reason, but it’s what I want to live with that I have to sort out for myself.

.

In the beginning, I remembered you always
In the middle you were hazy but still there
And now, in the present you are changed
Or I am changed

We are divided completely

Time and place captured us like a photo in an album
And besides a few straggling memories
Our friendship can only be cataloged between
Specific dates in the time line of our lives

You wanted something from me
And I wanted something from you
And but for a brief moment in time
We ended up with nothing but ourselves

I look back and think how foolish I was
To hold on to you and the idea of you for so long-
But am thankful that
I eventually let go

When I look at you now
And think of you then,
I see that you were still growing
Changing into the person you wanted to be
And not into the being I thought you would be

And maybe you think the same of me

And so we stand ourselves on separate sides of the road
You looking and me and me looking at you
The distance of time and place
Dividing us completely

When my body is in motion , hands at work, legs moving towards something- time becomes just an idea. The linear time line of life stops and I am just being. It's when I stop and cannot find peace in the silence that Time starts up again, and the tick tocking of life goes on. It's like waking from a dream to find myself stranded in the middle of a desert with no seemingly way out. I find myself at a strange place and time in my life where time to do things is plentiful, but resources to do them are sparse, and like waking from an ironic dream, I find myself in a desert- good old Tucson AZ.

The idea was to work part time at a job and work part time as an artist. And that worked for awhile, but my well has dried up and I've got nothing- no motivation, no desire- no ambition- nada. Writers block only "painter's block". But the creative itch is still there- and it burns like a bad rash. So I do this thing called "exorcising my demons"; meaning, when I see something creative, something that I think I might be able to do- I do it. I do it like it's an obsession until that well dries up (or the resources) and then I move on to something new. The object of this game is to create art but not spend any or as little money as possible- to use what I already have. And the funny thing is, no matter how much crap I have laying around the house, and no matter how many projects I do with that crap, there is always more crap in the end. It's the whole milk in cereal bowl scenario. I keep thinking that one day I will wake up and look in my art room to find that my shelves are empty and need restocking. But so far this has not been the case.

We've all heard the phrase "I could do that" when it comes to art and artists- but I am finding that this is not always the case. When I chase my creative demons around the block I realize a couple of things. One- damn, that's harder than it looks- or two; yeah, I can do that, but do I want to? Passion is the element that can raise the level of art to a whole new level.

So where am I? I have no idea, only that I am in a desert with little resources trying to grow a bountiful garden with what I have.