Giving up: (The Summary of my time in Fort Collins so far.)

I am giving up on being normal,  successful,  or meaningful.  Giving up on the game and going to look at the clouds.  I am giving up on finding out the meaning of life and focusing on finding out the meaning of myself.  Nietzsche once said every man is his own prison but for me I am my only escape.  You can try and follow my trail of tears to find their delta but all you will see is the negative image of roots deeply embedded in laughter.

I have stowed myself in the fibers of every canvas and sealed myself in a tomb of paint,  so when you look at me what you see is the image I want you to see;  A narcissistic fanatic who exceeds his egotism by pretending he is a virtuoso,  he pretends he's a Dali by becoming a Domi,  he pretends he's from the renaissance by becoming a Domini,  but that is not me for I am the son of Anthony,  the greatest father in history who is cursed with me, the devilish child.  I love my father, but I also am my father and he does not love himself.  I want to show the world what he can make,  I want to show how great he is to the world through myself;  the prodigal son.

Art was a legitimate possession for me,  it took over my entire psyche.  I remember feeling my brain change the moment I set those markers to her arm,  and I could hear and feel her heart beating faster.  It was throbbing in my mind until it reached my cerebellum and took the rhythm of my heart.  The transfer of the gift of art happened right there in that room,  almost as if we were experiencing history in the making.  Maybe. . .  Even if I make no difference as an artist I know that some aspect of my life could serve as a lesson to somebody,  I have seen too much and been a part of way too many profound things. 

I had a friend tell me about a girl I used to see the other day,  he was telling me that after they had sex she talked to him about me.  Saying that she had a huge crush on me,  but that I was crazy.  and I was,  and I am.  It's a fact that I am just going to have to accept,  what is the difference between genius and insanity?  One small step forward and out into a chasm of shrill screams. I used to be immersed in science as a child and then I found music and then I got expelled from school.  My mom told me she always thought she lost a naturalist in the making during that transition,  watching that child chase insects down the bank until he slipped into the rhythm of the river of creativity.  Soon I would emerge and be reborn once more,  science would take over my life again for another brief heave and sigh in the tension of my life's web.  Then I found drugs and art made me fall into a decomposing cave among collapsing veins and dying junkies.  I am not like them in my habit choices,  but I am like them in my addiction and my obsessions.  Food,  money, shelter,  and comfort mean nothing to me.  I need to find that answer I have been looking for,  I need to find my way back into the light.  The instant greed corrupts the mind you become more poor than you will ever be.  I found that out the hard way,  but I never desired wealth or status.  I desired fame,  but indirectly for something else,  a legacy.  A way for my life to matter.

At least that's what I thought made it matter;  there was a schism in my personality that resulted from psychedelics,  there is the clown,  the artist,  and the philosopher.  However the philosopher is also divided into the idealist and the nihilist.  Plato and Nietzsche are always fighting each other in my mind;  it's when they make love that things get strange.  But how many times will I write down a good idea for a painting when I feel I don't have time to make the painting instead of actually making it!?  How many times will my most profound insights turn into an idea for a painting?  How often will my inner clown feel the temptation to become anarchic and make it impossible for anyone to see the essence and truth behind what I say in words and in images?  The answer is indefinitely,  it's a part of my curse, but it's a blessing in disguise for I have found the key to to true perpetual motion in thought,  the paradox will generate a tremendous feedback loop, and maybe at any moment I will reach the zenith of momentum and finally plummet into the hands of fate.  I'm either going to die a legend or die in the depths of a rainforest smothered in life,  I will never be buried in the those modern cookie cutter sarcophagus' we call coffins,  the thought of having to have yet another house to trap me in death disturbs me greatly.