I spent most of this year purposefully concealed in the shadows; toiling away quietly behind a self-made curtain, cleaning my guns – next year there will be many LOUD BANGS.
I’ve neglected these short little flash fires I used to gleefully light and readily throw up onto this site, but as they say: time heals all wounds and wounds all heels. Not that those words pertain in any way, shape or form to anything I’m currently saying… I’m just saying.
Life is pink and fresh and ALIVE for me again. I was in some sort of somnambulistic suspended animation– comatose for many years and missing the world and the gorgeous little things that kept it spinning madly for me. I’m standing right where I want to be and I have an unobstructed and clear view of the fireworks that are going off in my head. These are the days of wine and roses. I’ve drunk so many delicious vintages and planted so many bulbs deep down into my soil this year that I’ll have a delirious hangover and a densely overgrown garden soon. But I wouldn’t dream of having it any other way. I feel as though I’ve looked through a lens for the first time in my life this year. As though I’ve scribbled my first words onto a page and drawn in deeply the clean, crisp air of the mountains for the first time. All my clocks are set correctly and all my sticks have astutely sharp points. I’ve opened myself up in ways that I’ve denied for far too long and I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the experiences.
I’ll cut this short- for my lack of any real intention to reveal anything here renders this entire missive utterly superfluous anyway… Regardless, allow me to mentally masturbate in front of you for a few moments more, will you?
These minutes, hours, days and months are jigsaw puzzle pieces that I’ve finally been fortunate enough to step back from, afford myself adequate distance so that I could view the larger composition and, I’m pleased, I’m thrilled by the design I’m nudging towards completion. I’ve developed the photograph that adorns the front of the box by hand and I’ll ride the image until its wheels exhale all their air. I’ll push pins into the toes of tomorrow to slow it down a bit – so I can stroll along smelling flowers while I catch up to my futures. My irons may melt if I leave them in the fire much longer- so I’ll soon draw them out, find them red-hot and able to cauterize any loose ends and wounds I’ve left opened and ignored.
As I look back at the past few year-end memorandums I’ve left scratched onto these virtual walls I’ve seen an obviously patterned upswing in the way I’m feeling, I’ve been steadily wiggling my way into a more free and comfortable place both mentally and creatively. I’ve been tasting more freedom every year and my hands move much more eloquently as I use them month by month… muscle memory guides me through things done right (and for the right reasons) with a fervor and passion that effortlessly self-evolves and only serves to elucidate my lot in this life. I’m right on track.
I’ll talk to you next year, Old Long Syne. [sic]
Happy NEW year.
