Nobody either doesn't exist or is the First primal existence. Who? No one, just some guy I knew. That's not true, that's taking a No One's name in vain. Why do the muscles flinch? At truth? Or simply at looking around the computer desk and finding trail mix, beer cans, two day old coffee, speakers, rum, old mail you thought was important, gin, and a crappy mic you use to turn your voice into Darth Vader just to see if you still ring back through 1's and 0's as the same person... Ellipses, the question mark's bastard son. Bastard is such a word. The RD at the end has such questioning finality and used-ism. Sometimes you want it to stand still for a sec to gather your thoughts but it's like a boat and the water won't stop moving, tilting, encroaching, and you know it's changing your coarse, like being lost in the desert and remembering that your legs aren't even and you can't walk in a straight line no matter how hard you try.
Being creative makes you feel special. People want you to be special. Creative energy is like a magnet of want or freedom that everyone wants, sees in other people, assumes they don't have, and yet manages to promote. Fuck right and left sides of the brain, they don't quantify, they provide a symptom like bullshit psychology naming my uncle as a paranoid schizophrenic chemically and genetically doomed and then him becoming lucid and straight and they move on to the next patient/victim of their pigeonhole revolution. Some of the best artists who ever lived were left-brained engineers, mathematicians, and purveyors of science, biology, chemistry. They all had sex and at one time or another were legit assholes.
So who is nobody? Nobody. We all refer to him/her all the time but no one I know has ever met anyone who is actually no one. It's a parallel justification for our opposite. Or at least of our least desire. Everyone wants to be someone right? How awful would it be to be no one? I can't bring myself to the comfort of saying that no one doesn't exist. Reference seems to make real. So. No One. I acknowledge you.
Bring everything to life. Make everything talk back. Find a reason, even by artist BS means, to surround yourself with a living world that sees and communicates. Everything around you is your conscience, if you let it breathe. Relying on yourself is a highly misunderstood concept. When I rely on myself I have to confer with either imaginary people in my head, Darth, Stan, Roberta, LEIA, the color black, my empty beer can, my full whiskey, or a sky that's so beautiful I could fuck it. Why the hell not...
In other news I watched Willow tonight and it was AWESOME. Mad Martigan ruled. "Wanna breeeed???" "Let's consult the bones!" I also need to buy new work shirts. I've been rotating TWO for SIX months. I was rotating three but I was told the third wasn't cool by a hot Korean. That happens. Sometimes you just gotta be told.
I'd like to start writing my video blog script. It could be awesome. Or lame. I don't care. My problem comes when I realise that I write these in like 15 minutes when I get nervous and so planning something 5-7 minutes is like a giant creative block. For someone without clear linear thought this is overwhelming.
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