THOUGHTS FROM AN OVERACTIVE MIND
“Thoughts from an Overactive Mind” is an unofficial series from 2015, which abruptly stopped in 2016
but still lives as the ultimate predecessor to the seemingly more official series, “Studio”.
The work is untouched and callow .
Read at your own risk.
How is a dream not considered a memory after surviving such life altering experience?
Here I stand in a space I before could only dream.
There are no words.
I find nostalgia in backyard creatures hiding under big rocks.
-- from the lips of a sleepwalker;
"Look! There are a bunch of chocolate and purple cookies on the wall!"
--
My subconscious must be harboring a small love for Willy Wonka.
Puzzles all day everyday.
Last night, for the first time in months, I dreamt so vividly and with so much ambiguity.
Something I thought I'd lost but now can only think of the good things to come.
"I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then."
The time I most regret giving into peer pressure was the day I told my mom I don't like Harry Potter.
I find a close connection to strangers who use the same mnemonics as I do.
We are taken back to a time when we thought the earth was flat and we'd fall off if we dare seek out the end.
Today was hard.
It was a stressful sort of day where the overactive part of my brain got the best of my logic. It was the sort of day where far more things went wrong than right. It was also the day a customer told me the weekly series I run is the highlight of her week and that she get giddy when she gets to work and realizes what day it is. Something in that makes the stress, the work load and the fifteen to twenty hours a week poured into pulling this whole thing together sort of totally worth it.
There is this thought that keeps popping up every couple of weeks.
Well its two thoughts, completely opposite of one another and I find with each week this unbalance dips one way or the other.
"Wow, things are really starting to pay off."
"Now, lets not try to figure everything out at once."
I can't say I am anywhere near finding the balance between the two. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure where to start but in the mean time there are these little moments. Much like the quiet outside this little treasure a quiet creeps over the battle inside. The work I'm doing now is sufficient, the small moments in the day I reconnect with my art world are enough, and the future stays close in mind with a calmer approach to the unknown. I'd like to say this place is one of solution to the unbalance but if that were true this thought wouldn't pop up nearly as much as it does.
Prepped myself for the knockout; left instead with a belt.
For months I heard horror stories of what lay just on the other side of that walk down the lane to Sir Edward Elgar's tune. They were dim stories with little to be left for hope but in the face of homework such fears could easily be pushed aside. Upon turning in your final exam though, these convenient distractions dissipate quickly and you are left standing at the door fingertips clinging to one side of the frame.
I am here to say I'm still alive. I am still living off PB&J and spaghetti but things are getting done and bills are getting paid. There is this weird sense of euphoria underlining an even weirder sense of stability that is all trapped within a disbelief that this will one day be normal. For now I walk with a little caution, still slightly paranoid none of this is real, because I certainly didn't picture working one month from graduation in a position as perfectly lovely as this one.
What's up Breakout KC. Let's get this next chapter rolling.
Endings are awkward.
They come attached with bittersweet notions of change, both the good and the bad. They ensue a smidgen of fear here and a tidbit of genuine curiosity there. Although, fear and curiosity aside endings will suck you in like Dorothy and a tornado. It doesn't matter if you're kicking and screaming or clawing at the floorboards endings are coming and change is soon to follow.
The only time you will get all green lights home is when
you have a bowl of berries in your lap and have dropped the lid.
I remember being told in fourth grade you will never see the sun shine during a rain shower.
Every time I do, I find an odd sort of comfort in my fourth grade teacher being wrong.
-- from the lips of a sleepwalker;
Having just sprung up in bed, "This is why I always eat yogurt before bed!!"
--
I almost never eat yogurt before bed.
The pipes that bang in the middle of the night almost always wake me up and for whatever reason I can't help but picture that iron faced dude from scooby-doo down there hitting them with a wrench... ya know the one that rode sharks.
I lost many quarters to your candy cigarettes and temporary tattoo dispensers --
There is something odd about places we remember so vividly but can never return to. Almost as if the authenticity of the sticky floor or the smell of fish and mildew is stripped away with the support beams being bulldozed. These places seem to fade into illusion as quickly as the cinderblocks can be unstacked and wiped from existence; leaving us to continue life pretending the run-down market down the street was nothing more than a quick stop for sloppy joe mix.
RIP Louis Market 2/24/15