I think right now 2:19 am I will call this the magical push, or the brooding suck, or whatever bad phrase I manage to conjure up at this moment -- that sort of inward pressure the outward forces in on you to make things and write things and have the words inside bubble up in the wondrous alchemy akin to witches' cauldrons and boiling tar pits. magical push? and I lack it at this moment, I've been sitting in front of keyboards waiting words to spill out.
talking about what I'm doing right now it's great. I feel unstimulated areas of my brain coming through. now I understand the allure of sol lewitt, of conceptual art, of the sheer joy but also absolving of responsibility when a creation is notched onto a concept, aimed towards the sky, and let loose in a deformed parabola dented by wind resistance and the early morning fog. allure is the right word - "let it loose", algorithmic processes, the relief of computational architecture setting into place maybe, grand creation stepped away from by the pure generative quality of mathematics. absolved from the mental juggling involved in the midst of chosen creation.
I don't know what to do or where to step. I feel confidence brimming. I feel energetic and optimistic. I feel like couches are palaces and planes are, well, planes and movement is magic and change is sacred and that I should be going more and moving more and running more and being more excited and more alive and less scared of things and more scared because I've just jumped. things like that.
I can feel this ability to translate mind to language; diametrically opposed to bullshit this is transformation, mapping. a week ago there was this talk and I had the vague idea of a question but found my hand rising before I knew what exactly I was going to say. that minuscule space between thinking and saying where I held the mic and everything went silent was this golden arena in which I found myself with the realization that yes, I could coast on this, and it was almost as if the abrupt impulsiveness with which I raised my hand contributed mostly to the corresponding unbroken stride of my question, decisions made unwittingly, let's see what happens, plunged in moments altogether more important than a question at a talk but still sharing that sense of a golden moment, things slowing down, stopping...
sleepy. tired. confused as well.