My Unraveling

About: My World. My Words.

My world.

My world has always been some intangible mix of fantasy and reality. Sometimes the two spill over into each other; murky concepts merging into a swirl of the conscious and the unconscious, the physical and the metaphysical. My constant lucid daydreams warring with the starkness of everyday in one moment, then making love to the mundane the next.

My words.

My words are fragments of that world, filaments of thought and feeling pulled from the tangled density of my sparking synapses. They scrawl themselves in ink across scattered scraps of paper, loose leafs that dangle and drop from branches of gray matter. Together we dance to a requiem, hopelessly entranced by the whistling wind haunting the perpetual autumn of my mind.

My words are my unraveling.

My words are my unraveling.

This medium is a museum of those words; collected fragments encased behind a sheet of prophylactic glass. From where you are these words appear still and composed, as if frozen in time and carefully preserved. They are not. They are atoms trembling, vibrating. Violently throwing themselves at you in frenzied heat. Lusting for escape. Hungry to be seen. And desperate, most of all, to be felt.

Everything is connected.

Everything is energy.

Do you feel me?