whoa stomach!

instant transmission
to be sent out immediately.

I have a journey to take.

I will be there for a while.

hopefully, I will make it through.

that is all.

sick

i've been ruined.

from too much reading.

from too much reflecting.

refracting.

reacting.

Process-based art work is a cunning adversary.

It will haunt your quiet - make you unquiet.

It will stunt your peace - make you violent.

I could have had different aspirations. People do that - have different aspirations than I.

And I get it. I own that. I am sick.

I have a disorder. A wrong order. My brain and soul are mal-organized. I have failed to see the picture that someone built the world with.

I see a completely different one. I keep reading about it in the dreams of others. Olders. Over-therers. Over-sharers. It's-not-fairers. I'm-not-scareders. Be-prepareders. I read about the world that we both live in. They arrived much before I did, but probably around the same season of their life. It's the struggle to discover which parts of my dreams are actually my dreams now, and what I can change about all of our dreams gone-by. Its a struggle to match my shopping list with anything I can possibly find around. I'd like to become the hometown hero for planet earth. Hike to the top of the great human mountain and proclaim to the wooded avoidance of gasping space: "I figured out why everyone is afraid of you! I know now why you leave everyone out of your plans! I've come to make it right!" And after that, the stars and planets would tiptoe cautiously in curious circles around a game of pick up sticks between the universe and I.

My neck hurts.