From Waco with love

How often it seems we wait around in the airspace of our lives waiting for something to materialize, waiting to need something, waiting to want something or someone. We, no, I, I just keep coming back here right?

I am Sisyphus after all.

I think its interesting that I have the capacity to revert suddenly to old bad habits at the drop of a hat.

Something about Waco that I just kind of melt in to. The air is one of two things, though Im not sure which-

assaulting, melting you in to the city like rock to magma, like bending steel with heat, bone to sweat, teeth to vapor.
Or it is acomodating, a big warm comfy couch, a pair of old boots, melancholy and charm, attractive in its humility. If anything, it really sets the stage for me to create, maybe because I already know it in that capacity, or maybe it knows me. It explains a lot, its why people like donald judd move to marfa and make installations, case and point- o'keefe and SantaFe, Dylan and New york, Cole and Waco? Is that what this place is to me? a muse?

If it is, I dont think it will be for long, I cant wait to settle somewhere again. I need to sit down, fuck i need to lay down. I need need need, want want want.

Im insatiable, Im a monster.

but so are you so whatever.

So I think, you know what? So much for trying to find life, I really think, this IS it. This is my life, and anything ive ever wanted and hoped for and havent gotten and have has been a part in that. All my journals seem to start on a bad note, a cringe, but end with something much better.

Id love to tell you Im healthy. Id like to tell you Im wealthy. Id love to say Its all happening for me everyday. But im not really any of those things in full.

I am however normal, and happy, and I am just as i always have been, Im going, and stopping when appropriate. Red light! Green light!
I think you MUST find joy in things like couches, walks, health, laughing, dancing, art, weather, sex, coffee. If you dont the world will just eat you, churn its stomach around and devour you.

I wanna cry but i cant. i wanna cry for everything that doesnt have an ending and should. The mundane and the banality, the stunning and the stalling, the loss and the gratitude, the embarassment and the elation, the fear and the brevity.

I want to cry just to punctuate things.

But i really physically cant, as stirred as I am all the time i cant. All i can do is dance to weep, create to mourn, and write to grieve. Feel feel feel you Eel.

Celebrate, grieve. And there you have it, thats all it is.

Share. you cant take it with you.

Youre born alone and you die alone and really everything you do in life you do absolutely alone, as much as you like to think you own or have anything or anyone, its not true. You get a birth and a death and thats it. And they are all yours, to have and to hold forever and ever. Everything else is just borrowed. And I, especially, am eternally and inexpressibly,grateful for the chance to have had anything at all. All of you and all of it. Every little damn bit of it.
i dont know who or what to thank for it, and so in place of hymns or conventional devotion I find some form of worship and reverance in arts. i could burst into song right here Im so fucking full, to the very 'effin brim.

Im such a little speck. A cute speck, but a speck nonetheless. A tiny little blip in the world. All I can hope for is some amount of joy, and some amount of grief from time to time. And lots, lots, lots of art.

now ya see me, now ya dont!

j