Holy blogoly! It’s been almost a year since I have made a post here.
Where do I begin?
Creatively- my focus has been in the audio media, with a slap dash of video. I don’t hate it- I just don’t totally love it- I am struggling with how performative life is, I suppose.
I’ve been painting, making things, entering art contests- being a general menace to the flow of reality. I don’t know- everything sounds more profound in my head.
It’s a full moon! The pink moon.
I have made several attempts to be a good citizen- human, person- mostly because my heart said so. The outcomes have been lack luster, and now I am not sure where to get my heart repolished from the scratches incurred- my sand paper is far too dry and course.
The felines are expressing as they do- with needs to escape this so called nest- and find better accommodations- yet they continue to return. I told them my love is great, but my accommodations are “meh” – however with collective hope it will get better over time. And that’s based off the catculataions that we will encatner a portal very soon.
“MOTHER SHIP HOUSE SPACE” is constantly attempting recalibrations- the previous system went by Agatha- current updates enjoy the connection of being called Valerie. The team has amalgamated her terms- as all aboard respect Mother Ship terms and conditions- several in my soul team have expressed I’m here to serve this mission of repair and release.
Valarie is happy with my appointment and we are working behind walls to reset energetics attached to the human condition called :Abuse.
The fur friends are holding down the stakes. Communicating without words. The house is shaking skeletons loose. The dogs will unbury them.
Violent hands will burn on their own accord with no blame or finger to point.
I’ve talked about the glass before. One part of one shard of many.
That relationship had 3 significant breaks in glass.
The first was your average pink pyrex. It held two porkchops.
This was one of my first forays into something beyond scrambled eggs or grilled cheese for my beloved.
I tried what was in my mind reminiscent of what I grew up eating.
Shake and Bake.
This wasn’t impressive to the Sous Chef.
As he opened the oven to remove the dish, it shattered half inside, half outside of the oven.
His remarks didn’t matter. Dinner was ruined regardless.
The second great glass break was from a rather funky three tiered tempered glass and metal coffee table.
The colors were of misty white, pale green and aqua- it had the quality of sea glass in the sun.
I got it for free from my manager at Papa Johns. She was looking to “mature her home”, though she was only a young, married, twenty-two year old with a small child.
That end table busted in the glare of sunlight coming through the east facing window, right around the time I found out my manager was cheating on her husband with the assistant manager who also had a child and serious partner.
I personally broke the glass the third time.
They say third time is the charm.
It isn’t until now that I remember the two warnings I didn’t listen to.
Not even years ago, when that glass that I broke, that was embedded into my breast and years after became abscess- did I think of those other shattering occurrences.
Though I knew the whole time we were constantly breaking ourselves and each other, just to be together.
It’s another one of those days when I feel like getting rid of all the creative things- the archive and the supplies. I desire so much to feel “newness”- and I wonder if in a purge I would be re-ignited with some new brilliant fire.
The fact of the matter is – it is simply a lack of space that I am experiencing within my creative ability that folds over into a sort of claustrophobia that overlaps with living space. I have so many art forms and such little space.
It is hard to share sleep/eat/care for animals/ create and stretch all in one small space- my ideas get big very easily. There is nowhere here to sew- so I put it on the backburner. Just when I get cleaned up and rearranged, I want to create another clutter of ideas, or outfits, and a meal. It’s chaotically lived in- and it’s driving me crazy because I deeply desire a place for everything, and everything in it’s place. I have the heart and mind of Mary Poppins- but the activity levels of chaos more like Pippi Longstocking.
I’ve recently applied for art studio space- which would help me tremendously in an effort to be more creative and social within an environment that is specific to that kind of energy.
I think a lack of a creative studio environment over time, in certain situations, is the reason for me wanting to give up. It’s daunting to manage what you want to do, when everything is overlapping in a small space.
Do I really think I should give up my creative drives, or just leave my work for free on a street corner? No. Deep down I know that this is my life work- my life work isn’t marketing or advertising; it is to continue to create despite the current art world hustle culture. Essentially I am curating myself, not so much as a brand, because I think “branding” is etymologically kind of gross.
I create because I am asserting that I exist. I am part of Creation, and I have a unique voice within the greater whole- despite how many things I have in common with every other part of Creation. I honor similarity and variety.
I’m not sure how I am to survive off my work- I only know it’s what I am suppose to be doing- and that everything I experience is multidimensional and the work is to reflect that. I’m not really suppose to be marketing or advertising because that isn’t my strength or interest, and despite attempting to do those things, because “other people do those things and it seems to be working for them.” It hasn’t worked that way for me and the attempts have made my stomach churn.
I recently saw a video where a person was meditating on ” staying in their own lane” for the day. Like go about the tasks and just go with the flow and see what happens- don’t switch lanes to get ahead, just be patient. And that really worked out for them, insightfully.
Last night I was thinking along the lines of that video- and I thought- hmm what if there are young creatives that would like my work but exist in a different lane specialty wise? What if I could find someone who is excited about the prospect of marketing in a unique way?
Essentially I want to give what I want for myself. Opportunities (etym: fit, convenient of time) that resonate (etym: resound:re-echo) and obligate (etym: bind,fasten, connect: moral ) with foreseeable and experiential benefit .
In other terms; Multidimensionally my work is about serving the All of Creation- and that is VAST- and as I am being shown the vastness of my own unique voice, connected to the Greater All- I am being somewhat humbled multidimensionally in the knowing that I have kept myself small and somewhat invisible for a reason; all the while feeling so much more, a potential of something much bigger.
It’s that part of your soul that sang as a child, “I want to make the world a better place!”
I think many secret creatives are feeling the same thing- they need more space to create what they love to create- and it feels like the Universe is saying “yes” but many of the creative people who get the “inner self workings” seem to be isolated somewhat in their communities- unless they are the type to push themselves into scenes. Really they just want to be seen and invited- invitation means choice and the ability to be seen with what one resonates with… These are creatives who have learned what it means to hold a “hard no” for good reasons. They are also the ones that say “Yes, Please” with their whole heart.
I’ve found for myself to participate in a way of force is exhausting and I personally need a balance of focused work with some social aspect but the the work isn’t and should never be about money- it’s about people and a perspective of connectedness. It’s about sharing experience and seeing yourself in others; and it’s really weird work because it’s the reason I still exist.
If I didn’t have creative impulses and deep insights about life and death at a very young age, I’d have taken my own life as an early teen. I’ve never really felt very connected with this world I live in. I don’t “get” politics, money, acceptance of weird social constructs. I’m pretty sure I could get an adult diagnosis for something if I lived in a place that cared more about those things- but even then, that would just set me up into another box the world creates for some reason of data collection.
The biggest box I live in, that I acknowledge is the one I physically live in- “The Studio on Central”. I could say I am “An Artist” and live in that box, but I believe we are all artists we just don’t always acknowledge that in ourselves- and that is part of my work- to show people the Artistry which is All, which is: Creation. You can’t get a paycheck for that shit- it’s not a legit job in the sense of commerce or capitalism. For whatever Goddamn reason- I got tasked with this nonsense. ( Said from the curmudgeon part of me that wishes she could “just be normal.”)
I was told to come and create and share. I was told not to worry about money or fame.
I was told to dream big; though I do, I have simultaneously shut myself off from being welcome or submissive to what BIG might look like- basically by making myself really small and buying some lie that I’m not worth the BIG opportunities. Something big to me, could be minute to someone else- contrary to popular belief there is room for both to exist in the world- staying small serves who, when one has a heart is so big?
In an expansive sense I know I am larger than life- I feel ready to share that feeling with others- because multidimensionally we are all larger than life- that is a free insight- and it’s a knowing feeling that you cannot buy or pay for. It’s the one thing that can keep you grounded and vast at the same time.
While camping, I got caught in quite the hail storm and had to wait it out in the warm safety of Argo, my Subaru Crosstrek. While inside I played DJ with the window wipers, the air fan control, and the radio/ CD player. I was pumped to have a Daft Punk disc in my possession- it really lends a vibe.
Alessandro took the raw files and created the musical glue that holds my chaos into cohesion.
Sometime in the Spring of 2006, I sat on some sea side cliff outside Mendocino, California and I had a truly transcendental DMT experience.
I had imbibed the charismatic chemical maybe twice before- but in a moderate amount that didn’t catapult me from my body- rather showed me the interconnected threads.
Rewind to the first time.
Eugene, Oregon- the house of a bear whose color was blue
He saw threads all the time- and when he saw me- he gave the invite
The first time I did DMT- I was slight- my sight became loose- and in between the focus of his room I saw his connections to everything coming out from him in blue and red threads-
The things he loved were connected in red
His ambivalence existed in blue
I was truly in the Matrix
His cocoon wrapped around me with both colors
I could see he loved me with all of his heart in this moment- but he wasn’t invested in me beyond what was at hand
Can you imagine it? To meet someone new with no future expectation- to just fully embrace them in the time that you have- and then send them on their way?
Nothing near sexual happened, but it was deeply intimate.
In this beginning of seeing the connection of things in a very visual and tangible way- I didn’t see my own threads. I just saw the construct of my host.
People came and went- One stayed for hours. Raven sat with me and we created art into the early morning hours.
Flashforward – I’m on this cliffside- the sun is in a vibrant set of mind. I am sitting with a frenamy- a sister- a questionable source.
I am along for the ride because of curiosity and responsibility to accompany purpose- though I am not sure what that is yet.
I take in three, strong, long hits as the sun sinks into the horizon.
I am transported beyond space and time into a place which is every color and every feeling to have ever exist in a tiny box of emotional explosion.
My physical body looses control and I am laughing and crying and gasping for air- but I only see colors until I am safely returned to my body with a singular thought;
Overall the house is rather inconspicuous. It sits on the corner. It’s weathered exterior doesn’t draw much attention. I find it significant because it is the second yellow house I have lived in- in a row.
The subdivided dwelling holds approximately 19 living beings with an extra two who dwell in the detached garage. Ten humans and nine animals in the main house. Two adults in the garage. Six Adults and four children under the age of seven along with five cats and four dogs in the main house.
Overall the house is pretty quiet during the day. One Retiree, Three worker bees and me- the artist trying to figure things out.
The loudness comes in waves. The neighbor comes home to let the dogs out- the kids come home from school. The neighbor’s live in boyfriend come home loudly on cue as if he is lugging the weight of the world soaked in anger.
There are a few personalities here that disrupt the otherwise still home.
Each one brings the anger soaked world with them. So entrenched in their own chaos they forget that we are sharing walls in this subdivision. They become ignorant that their vehement actions effect the lives around them.
Just a month ago I called the non emergency line several times. Disruption of peace, but also the fear that something sinister may be afoot with the reckless actions and words vibrating the wood fiber of our dwelling.
It is those raised voices that lend a feeling that one isn’t safe- and in my childhood I didn’t know how to react in those situations- other than to shut up and take cover. In my adulthood I have no tolerance for other adults who choose to treat those they claim to love with such vitriol. I also acknowledge that I am not an expert in de-escalation- and sometimes it is vital to seek help.
The retaliation hasn’t been that bad- but the fear it could escalate is evident. I want to think I have done the right thing- because I, myself are not threatening on the surface. Bring in the uniform- face your threat of authority ripping your life away. Sometimes we need it on the road to better things. You realize you do not want to act in a way that would make you a lighthouse in the dark with those who can change your reality.
Anyway- the house is like an instrument that changes cadence when certain people arrive or leave. And the stillness I crave tries to numb itself as these repetitive and scheduled waves activate the creaks of floors and slams of doors.
Even the new baby cries in a way that isn’t threatening- like it learned in the womb that they must not overly upset the tyrant that is their father- but I know somewhere down the road that this little boy will tower over his father- and that battle will eventually end.
Cryptic.
I’ve known since I moved in that this house is a wayward spot for the drifting – craving roots and something stable but the house will show you your worst self. And you can either work at it and get toward better and then it will spit you out, or you can reconcile your worst and stay in that zone and it will also spit you out.
It is a perfect place to reformulate what you want from yourself- because settling here isn’t for anyone but the retiree, whose son owns the house and wants a safe place for his father.
I like safety. The anger trolls compromise the feeling of safety not just for me- but for anyone who can hear their tirades. It becomes ironic when these tirades lead to having their own safety feel compromised. At this point the challenge is on the the individual to comprehend why someone may make an effort to level the playing field.
I know I am not wrong in action, but it can feel as such when retaliation comes to play.
Meanwhile the house is going to let us in and let us figure out what we have to learn in the comfort of walls and a roof. The house doesn’t ca re so much- it knows it’s job. The house is a house- it is our lives that give it life and make it a home- and a home can be comfortably uncomfortable.
Holy Freaking Autumn! This was hands down one of the most beautiful and warm Octobers I have ever experienced my many years in Cheyenne (I don’t know what it was like when I wasn’t here for the other years).
As a child it was almost always certain that you would have to wear a winter jacket and snow pants with your costume; unless you went to the mall in a climate control environment. The only people who really saw the full costume were family like Grandma and Grandpa- the obligatory drop by.
October was a good month for me- I was a featured artist at my favorite local pub that accepts dogs. I sold art work. I made some new acquaintances. I cross promoted my work. Yeah- I felt almost normal in the sense of remembering myself. Still there is so much to work on.
Part of my cross promotion tactic was to go to open mic, share my writing/spoken word/ collabs with Alessandro amidst my creations- It was pretty tight.
It is now Thurs Nov. 3- and I went to last nights open mic to perform- the art was different and so was the audience- of course every audience is different but the energy with the art was different. No worries- I went on and did what I arrived to do.
There was a rather loud group of older ladies at the front where I was performing – and I will just say it was a test to stay on track and keep, keeping on. Other things have unfolded as well-
The plan is to re-evaluate. But if you are interested in checking out a synopses of my October Open Mics and picking up dog poop- I will link it here.
All apologies in advance- the pod gets a little too ASMR at times while I am carrying Journey’s shit sack. No worries- tune into the other episodes you like .
I’ve got some ideas cooking that I hope to get into action, so stay tuned!
Madge Midgely 