I wake up. It’s 8:30 am and I find myself staring out the window. I just wake up for no reason other than I feel like I want to write or make something, I need to do something. I’m not sure what. Feelings are too close to tell. I just know something has to be done. I don’t know why. It seems like something has to be done just to show myself that something can be done. I can’t just lie there sleeping; something has to be done about this. I feel like I need to show myself that I’m not dreaming or maybe that my dreams aren’t just dreams or maybe that there’s a difference between dreaming and being awake. I don’t really care. I just know that something needs to come out of me and it makes me feel better to get rid of it. I feel lighter afterwards. It is the process that is the reason for making.

I’m made up of made events. Records of experience. A life has passed by my filter of perception and something outside or inside me gives desperation to make things out of these events that I have voluntarily and involuntarily filtered. Its more than just Ego to say that there is a suffering desperation connected to the act of making things. It doesn’t matter what happens after, to most resulting work, what matters is in the moment of creation, the connection to the act of creation. It’s about getting high. There’s a moment of being high just when you’re making something new. An energy that comes all around you and you feel connected. You feel connected to the act of making. You feel connected to the process of creation. Maybe that’s what it feels like to be aware of the collective unconscious. A kind of waking lucid dreaming. Short circuit the disconnect. You feel high from the collapse of reality and unreality into a singular continuous form. In the process of making things you reach the edge of what would be considered reality. That’s how something may seem new. Inventing something out of nothing. In the process of making things, inventing things you are bringing things out from the dark intangible void and making them into real. But it is not possible to create energy out of nothing; it is only possible to transform energy. To make a work of art is to make something transform from non-reality into reality. That is not to say that there hasn’t existed in some previously unrecognizable state a thing even before it was created. The act of creation isn’t really an act of creation at all. Rather the act of creation is more like an act of transference. An act of remembering something that hasn’t been remembered for indefinite amount of time, if ever. The act of creation is really an act of recognition. Dreaming before making is pre-recognition. Making a work of art may be like opening your eyes to total consciousness. To wake up to total consciousness for just a split second. It all happens in an instant. When you open your eyes you let the image of something beyond what is recognized as real burn into your head. Try to look at it before you fall back down. And then while it’s still fresh in your memory, try to make some kind of a report so that the rest of us can get a sense of what you’re talking about. Tell us what you experienced while you were looking at something that wasn’t recognized as real yet. Remember, let us validate you only as an after thought. Because the real junk is in that moment of being high. When you have been up there what ever already has been can not compare. After can’t matter like that which is up there. Don’t make a record of it for us. Make a record of it for your self, use it as a road map so that you may find your way back up there. Because coming down can be a real drag. The weight of everything being so over. It can really make me sick thinking of it, all the waiting around and going to sleep every night by 12:00. What a waste of time. A waste of living. What a waste to go on day-to-day being in this place here. Everybody already decided that it exists. All that’s left is to hold down the fort. Let’s all stand here and shake hands and agree that this here place is real and we all here are all real and that ain’t no joke. There ain’t one of us here who’s crazy because we all see the same thing.

No sir mister, I’ve had my fill of that kind of mush, and I can tell you it tastes especially rancid after spending any amount of time up there in the sweet delicious ethereal world of the not yet completely heard of. You can’t keep a space monster down. There is no gravity boots to keep you locked up good enough so long as you can remember how to get back up there.

Sometimes you can’t get it back up though. Sometimes you forget where you were coming down from and you just keep on going down. You go further and further in to the reality rut. And I can really relate in those moments to what it feels like to be wearing the cement boots. Try and try again to get back up there and all you do is make some worthless facsimile of some other past experience already had, already used up and naturalized. It is true then that you can’t make your own way entirely, and it is self evident that we’d all be high all the time if it were possible or practical in any way.

The natural order of things is this: for there to be a high place there needs to be a normal, holding down the fort. And the fact that there is a normal holding down the fort and a place you can go that is somewhere out there may point to the basic human trait of save the best for last, or I mean, save the best for last resort, or I mean, slave the best until last resort. Pleasure delay. Rarify the air up there. And in other words do all we can to keep our selves down because if we were all high all of the time there would be nowhere to go but down and without proper incentive the frailty of the human race could prove to be fatal. Nobody wants to be wearing the cement gravity boots alone. We would rather all wear them together most of the time, and talk about the good times, always together.