Diaries of a Winter's sleep

reflections on how I got here and where “here” is.

Go. Capture light in a bottle. Draw your quivering hand. Transcribe the wind. Make a new subatomic form, make an origin story. Use your head... destroy your mind.

Break eggs.

Everything has a reflection an opposite...an opposing side. To show again what cannot easily be seen,  a manifestation. Everything I have made has been a manifestation of my views. What I like is a reflection of my nature… this is common. Everyone has this and everyone uses this. I am no different, I eat, I sleep I use my senses, I survive. In my physical way, my behavior is correct. I see another day.  My mind is common and my body follows. My world view is my surroundings, what I know. Miniature

mu

I try to connect the dots, making work, place things, entwining them into the words I have read by men and women whom I believe,

 know what I seek.

I find little satisfaction in making things. I make them, they are made. It ends, I end.   And what follows is a void this feeling of loss. loss of a purpose. So I manically make things attempting ignorance loss. i clutch  something,  anchor something push myself against something. But I am mistaken, I keep mistaking something for air, I keep slipping. I wasn’t meant to capture this I tell myself  to keep moving. if I  am kinetic I will be in the world. I will be present. I state but have no belief.  I tally my lies. To make a relationship between objects and people feels incomplete. And I feel that, I know that, I am to do more. I don’t have an answer to the equation of where I am to be. Nor do I have the answer. I have no goal, nor do I expect to find it soon.

void

 I have to be told to fall in love with losing to jump in confidently into nothing. But I am too cautious, fearful because I do not know my consequences.

I am exhausted and I am stuck. I am trying to trace some origin, some birthplace of ideas. I look to the past and find o nourishment. I think about the future like a chess player planning every move. But I am no tactician. I can see my moves felling the king.  I try, I lose and I try again. I lose again. I analyze, I look but I don’t learn anything new. I try to read my palm like a seeker looking from an outward manifestation of something I have kept. I overturn rocks.

 I leave a portion of my creativity ability to a force outside of myself. I have plan But I don’t have a resolution to heal the wounds.

I think this path is correct. It feels correct. I write knowing I am supposed to write.

Heat water…make tea

drink

I am an old woman with a young woman’s problems. 

But I am consumed

 so I continue.