Space cadet doesn’t begin to describe the level of perverse imagination that distracts me from the events that happen here on planet earth. In the 60’s people said they took hallucinogens and other drugs to help them think creatively. Well, I think deeply enough without them, and see brightly floating colors come off the sidewalk well enough. In fact, my experience with hallucinogens has been quite negative, like my brain gets over loaded. Its hard for me to produce good work while the Frankenstein veins I’m looking at on my arm are clashing artistically with the flying koi fish on the ceiling. I have a hard enough time filtering my imagination without tripping, so when I do trip it’s like my brain functions freeze and I can’t restart no matter how many times I try control-alt-delete… It’s like god damn it- reboot. Reboot. Reboot.
It’s not hard to inspire my imagination and trigger a moment of internal escapism.
I get inspired by smelling the pheromones on cute boys, or something as simple as reading the ingredients off an ice cream stick. It’s kind of irritating sometimes, to fall back down to reality, mid sentence- mid horse drawn cloud-sicle ride.
Nobody really understands that it’s hard for me to do normal things without putting some sort of personal stamp on what I’m doing (taxes for me were a fiasco this year). I sympathize with the autistic because sometimes this damn imagination really makes me feel like I am too. When I watch movies though, or plan one out and salivate over the visuals, molding both the shot and art direction to my internal fantastical vision; it’s like sex.
(Okay, not as good as really great sex, but much better than the sex I usually get out of the boys I choose.)
Sometimes though, I worry my vision is too child-like, dark or simplistic or rather not in the vein of what my audience… or even what this world is looking for. Sometimes I think that I’m not what this world is looking for.
It’s rather burdensome to meet new people. When I was younger I threw myself at each new person I met, I greeted them as if I were shouting from the
Speaking of naked, this getting fatter thing is not cool, God. Isn’t self esteem hard enough to achieve without rolls and a tummy to get in the way? I guess bigger boobs are good about it, though not when it comes to function outside the world of desire.
I do love the world of desire however. It’s a place where I try to spend as much time as possible. There is no better inspiration for my imagination than spending intimate time with pheromones that excites me. Smelling an attractive boy is my equivalent of tripping. Every person smells like a different movie scene to me. The last person I had sex with (I don’t kiss and tell) smelled like fresh tree wood, dreadlocks and sleeping in on a rainy Sunday morning. When I smell him, I picture a slow dance in a tropical setting at night with fire flies. If I were actually going to film it I’d probably throw some willow trees in there too.
On another tangent; I love