Monday, April 7, 2014
Awoke constantly stumbling over my own ideas and memories. At once, internal combustion and suddenly the Yukon Territories in the spring. Dense unforgiving mountains, glacial moraines. I'm walking along the train tracks, high altitude sage brush steppe, surrounding low, low ranges silhouetted in the sun. Careen in circles, light blue midnight glow the parking lot immersed, diesel idle brings me back to internal combustion. Pressing out a gudgeon pin, seating bearings, the whole beast turned upside down its underbelly exposed, its intestines spilling out, yet clean. Shiny clean. Then again to the rafters of America, high above the ceiling below floating lazily down the inner passage like drifting down the Mississippi in the Cambrian, always squinting to see the pre-history oozing from above. Forced into a period of stasis, trapped in the heartland I had to scrutinize years worth of stored images and events. Why all this now?
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
The diesel jake brake from the distant interstate. Far off train whistle blows. The traveler cannot be suppressed. Trapped on the skirts again, longing for an arrival, a departure, now any kind of motion to anywhere. Desperation breeds desperate measures, viable farfetched solutions. Put it all together in the cornfield, shimmering mud made deep by spring runoff. Never seen so much I couldn’t humanize.
“Visions from life’s other side.”
Slugging rotgut from the bottle in the parking lot.
Staring at the familiar blue and red highway compass as headlights reflected off of it dancing in the warm night air.
I have become a highway ghost. Lost to the side of the road, the parking lot. No one notices because no one wants to. Just don’t ask for help.
Monday, March 17, 2014
They seemed to "pop" more.
(I could see them better.)
I realized I was seeking to make images with no center, no identifiable form, no starting or ending.