Don't go there...or there either...

I feel like this 

right now.

I am panic-ing about starting and finishing,

simultaneously.

I am all over the place.

Feeling trapped in my head,

with all my dumb thoughts-

pepper jack cheese is very robust-

aesthetics in art are rediculous to speak to.

I watched a film during studio hours that resonated deeply enough I have nothing yet to say about it:

It was horrifying because it was so beautiful and distant.

Well there's something.  

Stranded in Canton by William Eggleston 

I know I have much more to say about it...later.

Class assignment- Are you more inspired by this or that?

 

First,

To talk in binaries is difficult.

Yes and no.

The way people see me and understand me

is contradictory to how I feel.  I feel this way, maybe.

If how I feel is who I am ,

then I guess you could linearly say …no one really knows me-

based on their perception of how I  am,

outwardly, no?

 

Are you more inspired by the presence or absence of contentment?

Most people perceive me as confident and outspoken. 

I think this is true, but it is false.

I second-guess myself. I think.

On occasion I can spout a vocabulary that seems indicative of that. Often.

But the handful of people that have the pleasure

(or misfortune, possibly)

of knowing me intimately ,

know the anxious, panicky creature

prone to awkward  social and self retreats.

The creature flees inward, often and fast,

When contentment is fleeting.

Don’t get in the way when the creature runs inside itself- it will tear you away with it. 

In abundance of contentment the creature is free to move about,

unwearied by its own anxious ways. 

It is distant towards its own debilitations, and self-deprecates less often.

Productivity increases.

When contentment is absent,

The creature shuts down.

Shutting down.

Shut down.

Down is decrease.

 

More Inspired by rest or fatigue?

I am too rested to answer that.

I have nothing to say,

right now.

 

Relaxation or Pressure?

There may be a strong correlation between rested and relaxed. 

I rest to relax. Possibly.

Or relax to rest? ..This is fatiguing.

I am inspired.

I feel pressure to answer honestly,

and well.

If it is expected of me,

I will.

Don’t disappoint anyone-

That is a lot of pressure.

It will work; I will work,

harder.

 

Joy or Sorrow?

You work from what you know.

With my melancholic disposition,

I have not the understanding to be overwhelmed by joy.

My family understands-

it has worked- I have worked- from this place, my whole life.

I am happy,

most of the time.

But it is not what I am inclined towards being.

My mother told me

Its just the way I am.

She is probably right.

I am not the sort who is predisposed to argue such a point.

It is not that I choose sorrow to inspire,

It it that I have little other choice.

It seems.

 

Culture or Nature?

I can choose both.

Because.

It is my objective to redefine the distinction between such a binary.

I chose culture,

because it is culturally relevant.

I will choose nature- because it can be cultured.

I will funnel all of culture through my cipher

I will do this to nature,

as well.

Like Lil’ Wayne.

Duh.

 

 

Against the Grain....of the walls

Huysmans 

             When the Fontenay house was in readiness, fitted up by an architect according to his plans, when all that remained was to determine the color scheme, he again devoted himself to long speculations.
He declared the truth of a theory which had almost mathematical correctness- the theory that harmony exist between the sensual nature of a truly artistic individual and the color which most vividly impresses him. Disregarding entirely the generality of men whose gross retinas are capable or perceiving neither the cadence peculiar to each color nor the mysterious charm of their nuances of light and shade; ignoring the bourgeoisie, whose eyes are insensible to the pomp and splendor of strong, vibrant tones; and devoting himself only to the people with sensitive pupils, refined by literature and art, he was convinced that the eyes of those among them who dream of the ideal and demand illusions are generally caressed by blue and its derivatives, mauve lilac and pearl grey, provided always that these colors remain soft and do not overstep the bounds where they lose their personalities by being transformed into pure violets and frank grey.
Those persons, on the contrary, who are energetic and incisive, the plethoric, red-blooded, strong males who fling themselves unthinkingly into the affair of the moment, generally delight in the bold gleams of yellows and reds, the clashing cymbals or vermilions and chromes that blind and intoxicated them.  
But the eyes of the enfeebled and nervous persons whose sensual appetites crave highly seasoned foods, the eyes of hectic and overexcited creatures have a predilection toward that irritating and morbid color with its fictitious splendors, its acid fevers-orange.