Not so bad really. Coming through the clean end of the self-loathing purge. Set up in my own hayloft, over the patio of production, I have a chance not to be of that busy world. It is a busy world, and while the first 24 hours were filled with the internal draw toward those impulses, yesterday I watched.
And I think I even caught a thought balloon – the groundskeeper longing for what I have.
And then I imagined the thought balloons that would emerge from this tiny space, and how glad I am that no one can see them: thoughts of misery at my own weaknesses, perplexity about a process I’m new to, and concerns about the people I seem to be leaving behind while mucking around in this.
Thought balloons always seem so bright – as if they truly are the actual content of an object of joy for children. How strange that mine seem military green, charcoal grey, and rust colored.
And then I gave myself some air, some oxygen, and considered the notion that perhaps these emotions that arrive to me as thoughts are not really thoughts at all – but pre-thoughts. The emotions leading up to more concrete thoughts. The anxious expression of the laboring of a real thought.
And that when I’m quiet those will come, dressed in red, blue, and bright yellow. Chasing me down the streets of Paris in my dreams.
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