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Self and Other
14 years ago
General
Side note: I find it frustrating that things that interest me don't maintain themselves without conscious effort on my part. Like dreams for instance. If I put effort into it, I remember pieces of dreams but the moment I stop mentally prepping myself to dream before bed each night, it just disappears and I get nothing at night. This seems to be the pattern for a lot of things in my life. If I'm not actively studying and pushing on them, they rapidly decay and vanish.
Side note 2: I REALLY need to learn how to remember people's names and associate them with faces. This is a serious handicap for me that I have to learn to overcome.
Last night, I intended to dream. I did. I was looking for something. Some piece of something for some art project. Perhaps I was just seeking inspiration. That was my goal when I went to bed.
Someone in the Other told me they knew a person that might have it. I rode a bus through a city of winding cobblestone streets and twisted decrepit buildings until we stopped in sort of a cul du sac with ruined buildings on the left and a view over a bay straight ahead and a sort of run-down old hotel or mall on the right.
There were a couple of rough-looking people out front. A man and a woman. Old, weathered, looked like they lived on the streets and drank a lot. The woman was wearing a badly worn wedding dress, the man a tattered tux. It triggered all my ingrained little fears about 'those people' but they welcomed me like an old friends and invited me inside. I felt ashamed of my fears. I think they owned the place or at least ran it. They told me their names but I promptly forgot.
Inside, we were on an elevated walk looking down into a large open room that had various people doing stuff. Drawing, chatting, sewing, juggling, practicing fire dance. The interior was kind of like a victorian era building, somewhat decrepit with carved features. Mostly cream and off yellow colors. I think some of the columns were white at one time, there was some wallpaper on at least one wall in a sort of diamond print.
It was a bit like a burning man event but not 'an event'. The air of it being a special occasion wasn't there. This was where these people lived every day. I felt awkward. I felt like I didn't belong. Where it hit me was that I had a 'regular job' and these people were virtually homeless but they were somehow more 'real' than me. I felt like a fake.
A kind of handsome vaguely hispanic guy, no shirt, dark brown knee-length pants got up from a couch where he was working and came around the left side and up some stairs I didn't see. He'd been making a brown knotted wide-brimmed hat. He put it on my head and said, "Welcome!" to me, gave me a hug and then disappeared down a hallway. I was very thankful. I'm past due for a haircut and my hair is faded and ratty.
Some of the other people below waved to me and told me their names (which I again forgot :( ) and invited me down.
A first, I didn't see the way the guy had come up so I kind of wandered around and then found a gradual slope that went down to the main room on the right.
A couple of guys sitting on a couch invited me over to sit with them. I sat down between them. They introduced themselves. One of them had said his name just a few minutes before when I was above. I tried to remember his name. I almost had it but it slipped. He was thin, wiry-muscled with a neatly trimmed goatee. Dark brown or black hair. He sat on my left and smelled a bit of olives and turpentine.
On my right, the other guy was large with rolls of fat but not obese. It oddly suited him. Kind of baby faced but with sallow cheeks and a strange sort of smile. Now that I think about it, he only passingly resembled human at all. He smelt stale but not oppressive. Like old tea and a bit of mustiness.
I was about to tell them what I was looking for but I had some shallow ego need to try to prove that I belonged there and my sketchbook was in my hand so I told them I drew. They were both excited by this and wanted to see. They also both had sketchbooks of their own and presented them to me. I handed mine to the thin man on the right, now suddenly feeling awkward because I instantly knew their work would be leagues better than mine.
In the fat man's sketchbook, every page had a fully rendered image in it. They were a strange style. People with rounded rectangular body forms. Sort of a stylized grotesque. A little cartoony with a strong graphic element. It was really visually compelling stuff. Some of it was sublimely funny or uncomfortably odd. It wasn't a style I would have said I 'liked' but it was definitely quite interesting and in the back of my head, there were some ideas that I wanted to steal. Particularly one about a unicorn man.
The thin man's sketchbook was sketchier with lightly drawn lines showing transparent layers of things that resembled violins. Almost like technical drawings. They weren't as visually captivating as the fat man's but they appealed more to the technical side of my brain that was trying to understand the forms in 3D space and visualize how they were constructed and all of the work that went into them.
I just began to talk with them about their respective works when the alarm went off. *sigh* This is the way with most of the dreams I've manufactured. They always terminate just at the story is beginning. I suspect I must dream only in the seconds before I become fully conscious. :/
I wanted to record the experience but also, I'm left with an odd question. Is it right to plagiarize art from artists that you only dreamed of? I mean if I found their work interesting, certainly I should pull some ideas from them but wholesale copying the works of another artist seems wrong even if they were people that only existed in my head. I also feel somewhat ashamed that I couldn't remember any of their names.
I guess I could perhaps try to render the world they live in. It was a strange and interesting place but it also seemed like something that would take a lot of time to render and not be interesting to people other than me. I could cling to some hope that by rendering it, I might make them more real, establish a stronger link with them, bring my flop-house of strange muses more present in my mind.
I know however, that's not really how my brain works. Every dream that I've ever had that I've tried to revisit, I've never gotten back to. I can only recreate or sustain them through active process and somehow that always feels a lot less 'real' to me. All of the characters become Mary Sues that I move in contrived ways.
I think it also says something to me about how shallow all of my emotions and motives were throughout the dream. There were all these amazing things I should have been paying attention to yet I kept being blinded by my own vanity and ego. Even now, there's a rich Other land in my mind and I debate the value of drawing it because it probably wouldn't inspire anyone else. Is that really all I see art as? A tool with which to manipulate others? Shallow indeed.
Yet... True. My head is always full of rich landscapes and beautiful pictures. I could spend an eternity dwelling inside it. For my personal sake, I have no reason to render these things. I'm crazy enough that they are as real as I allow them to be. Often I feel like I'm fighting to maintain my footing in this reality. It would be easy to let Otherland carry me away. At times I wonder if it already has. Maybe the 'real' me is eating out of dumpsters somewhere and the life I have is one that self created to hide from her own reality.
I am instead seeking some sort of communication with others through art. I have vague generalized goals of wanting people to think and dream and smile and sometimes be a little creeped out. I desire to give others an experience that is outside of Default World. I want to infect them with a little bit of the strange. I appreciate that part of myself. I think it's right and on a noble mission.
Then there's the other part of me that has no safety net to speak of and few friends. The self that wants to be loved and adored. The part of me that is the void and could consume all of the love in the world and want more. The part that is afraid of losing this reality and sinking entirely into the Other. That part cripples my art. It's in such a hurry to be loved that it wants to rush everything. It's so sad and pathetic, even I have nothing but contempt or it. I wish it would die. Poor unloved child. Boo hoo. Life sucks, get over it. How does one kill their own ego anyhow?
Side note 2: I REALLY need to learn how to remember people's names and associate them with faces. This is a serious handicap for me that I have to learn to overcome.
Last night, I intended to dream. I did. I was looking for something. Some piece of something for some art project. Perhaps I was just seeking inspiration. That was my goal when I went to bed.
Someone in the Other told me they knew a person that might have it. I rode a bus through a city of winding cobblestone streets and twisted decrepit buildings until we stopped in sort of a cul du sac with ruined buildings on the left and a view over a bay straight ahead and a sort of run-down old hotel or mall on the right.
There were a couple of rough-looking people out front. A man and a woman. Old, weathered, looked like they lived on the streets and drank a lot. The woman was wearing a badly worn wedding dress, the man a tattered tux. It triggered all my ingrained little fears about 'those people' but they welcomed me like an old friends and invited me inside. I felt ashamed of my fears. I think they owned the place or at least ran it. They told me their names but I promptly forgot.
Inside, we were on an elevated walk looking down into a large open room that had various people doing stuff. Drawing, chatting, sewing, juggling, practicing fire dance. The interior was kind of like a victorian era building, somewhat decrepit with carved features. Mostly cream and off yellow colors. I think some of the columns were white at one time, there was some wallpaper on at least one wall in a sort of diamond print.
It was a bit like a burning man event but not 'an event'. The air of it being a special occasion wasn't there. This was where these people lived every day. I felt awkward. I felt like I didn't belong. Where it hit me was that I had a 'regular job' and these people were virtually homeless but they were somehow more 'real' than me. I felt like a fake.
A kind of handsome vaguely hispanic guy, no shirt, dark brown knee-length pants got up from a couch where he was working and came around the left side and up some stairs I didn't see. He'd been making a brown knotted wide-brimmed hat. He put it on my head and said, "Welcome!" to me, gave me a hug and then disappeared down a hallway. I was very thankful. I'm past due for a haircut and my hair is faded and ratty.
Some of the other people below waved to me and told me their names (which I again forgot :( ) and invited me down.
A first, I didn't see the way the guy had come up so I kind of wandered around and then found a gradual slope that went down to the main room on the right.
A couple of guys sitting on a couch invited me over to sit with them. I sat down between them. They introduced themselves. One of them had said his name just a few minutes before when I was above. I tried to remember his name. I almost had it but it slipped. He was thin, wiry-muscled with a neatly trimmed goatee. Dark brown or black hair. He sat on my left and smelled a bit of olives and turpentine.
On my right, the other guy was large with rolls of fat but not obese. It oddly suited him. Kind of baby faced but with sallow cheeks and a strange sort of smile. Now that I think about it, he only passingly resembled human at all. He smelt stale but not oppressive. Like old tea and a bit of mustiness.
I was about to tell them what I was looking for but I had some shallow ego need to try to prove that I belonged there and my sketchbook was in my hand so I told them I drew. They were both excited by this and wanted to see. They also both had sketchbooks of their own and presented them to me. I handed mine to the thin man on the right, now suddenly feeling awkward because I instantly knew their work would be leagues better than mine.
In the fat man's sketchbook, every page had a fully rendered image in it. They were a strange style. People with rounded rectangular body forms. Sort of a stylized grotesque. A little cartoony with a strong graphic element. It was really visually compelling stuff. Some of it was sublimely funny or uncomfortably odd. It wasn't a style I would have said I 'liked' but it was definitely quite interesting and in the back of my head, there were some ideas that I wanted to steal. Particularly one about a unicorn man.
The thin man's sketchbook was sketchier with lightly drawn lines showing transparent layers of things that resembled violins. Almost like technical drawings. They weren't as visually captivating as the fat man's but they appealed more to the technical side of my brain that was trying to understand the forms in 3D space and visualize how they were constructed and all of the work that went into them.
I just began to talk with them about their respective works when the alarm went off. *sigh* This is the way with most of the dreams I've manufactured. They always terminate just at the story is beginning. I suspect I must dream only in the seconds before I become fully conscious. :/
I wanted to record the experience but also, I'm left with an odd question. Is it right to plagiarize art from artists that you only dreamed of? I mean if I found their work interesting, certainly I should pull some ideas from them but wholesale copying the works of another artist seems wrong even if they were people that only existed in my head. I also feel somewhat ashamed that I couldn't remember any of their names.
I guess I could perhaps try to render the world they live in. It was a strange and interesting place but it also seemed like something that would take a lot of time to render and not be interesting to people other than me. I could cling to some hope that by rendering it, I might make them more real, establish a stronger link with them, bring my flop-house of strange muses more present in my mind.
I know however, that's not really how my brain works. Every dream that I've ever had that I've tried to revisit, I've never gotten back to. I can only recreate or sustain them through active process and somehow that always feels a lot less 'real' to me. All of the characters become Mary Sues that I move in contrived ways.
I think it also says something to me about how shallow all of my emotions and motives were throughout the dream. There were all these amazing things I should have been paying attention to yet I kept being blinded by my own vanity and ego. Even now, there's a rich Other land in my mind and I debate the value of drawing it because it probably wouldn't inspire anyone else. Is that really all I see art as? A tool with which to manipulate others? Shallow indeed.
Yet... True. My head is always full of rich landscapes and beautiful pictures. I could spend an eternity dwelling inside it. For my personal sake, I have no reason to render these things. I'm crazy enough that they are as real as I allow them to be. Often I feel like I'm fighting to maintain my footing in this reality. It would be easy to let Otherland carry me away. At times I wonder if it already has. Maybe the 'real' me is eating out of dumpsters somewhere and the life I have is one that self created to hide from her own reality.
I am instead seeking some sort of communication with others through art. I have vague generalized goals of wanting people to think and dream and smile and sometimes be a little creeped out. I desire to give others an experience that is outside of Default World. I want to infect them with a little bit of the strange. I appreciate that part of myself. I think it's right and on a noble mission.
Then there's the other part of me that has no safety net to speak of and few friends. The self that wants to be loved and adored. The part of me that is the void and could consume all of the love in the world and want more. The part that is afraid of losing this reality and sinking entirely into the Other. That part cripples my art. It's in such a hurry to be loved that it wants to rush everything. It's so sad and pathetic, even I have nothing but contempt or it. I wish it would die. Poor unloved child. Boo hoo. Life sucks, get over it. How does one kill their own ego anyhow?
my advice, and this is advice i try to follow everyday, is to just let yourself be a kid. everyone's idea of growing up seems to be "get a house, get a job, stop playing games and abandon all of your childish dreams" What the hell is the fun in that? i would rather kill myself than live a shitty boring life where i color in the lines and obey everyone's social morals instead of doing what i want. it's completely possible to be childish and mature at the same time.
the otherworld that you speak of isn't separate from the "normal" everyday one. we all share the same world and i think it's a good thing personally. without responsibility nothing would ever get done, but without fun and procrastination we would all constantly be uptight and feeling like crap. Rather than retreating into the other world, i try to bridge the gap between the normal and the weird. i frequently walk down the street getting stared at with looks of disgust because i look like one of the street kids (even though i'm not, yet) and i respond back with a smile. i truly believe that one day everyone will be holding hands and standing under a rainbow singing together - but i also fear that it may not happen in my lifetime
bottom line is this - don't let peoples' views of how the world "really is" get in the way of you fulfilling your destiny to shape it into what you want it to be
ps - if you want to brainstorm some ideas on how to make the world more interesting/weird i'd be down to chat. i have long lists of stuff that can be done to bring about forced awareness of the awesome to the general public in a friendly safe way ;)
When I was 19 I was hit by a drunk driver and nearly killed. At that time, I woke up to the realization that life was too short to live by other people's rules. That resulted in being disowned by my family but que sera sera. I've gotten over it more or less. I was never really a 'wanted' child to start with though. My mother and my biological father were married for all of six months just to protect her honor and keep me from being 'a bastard'. My mother is kind of mental. She and I have never got along. I think she blames me for 'ruining her life' or something because she never finished college due to pregnancy. I love my adopted dad. He's a sweet man but he worked really long hours and was hardly ever home so I didn't see him much when I was a kid. His father however was a complete flaming asshole. I don't think I've ever met a more hateful man. My mother's parents both died when I was in my teens. I've never seen my biological father or my grandparents on that side, though I've been told that they're alcoholics and that my grandfather on that side committed suicide.
The other world I see is a distorted one, I suspect possibly what could be constrewed as borderline schizophrenic. It is not entirely dissimilar to what is seen when one is using a psychedelic substance. Buildings can twist and sway, there are strange creatures here and there, voices that don't exist. Though only in the after-images, not in waking life with my eyes open. Just if I look at something and close my eyes for a few minutes, then I start seeing things. It's a world that has some internally consistent behavior but it doesn't intrude into my waking life except in a subconscious sort of way. I don't have to fight to keep it out so I don't worry about it too often but if I wanted to, I could lie down and disappear into that world for long periods of time.
No one gives me weird looks though I've made a lot of my clothing myself and I have funny-colored hair. I live in Santa Cruz. I guess the anxiety part of the dream was part of just never really feeling like I fit in anywhere. I grew up in rural Oklahoma and didn't have anyone like me to talk to. I became kind of isolated and that's carried through into my adult life. Somewhere in the back of my head is always this fear that the people that I actually want to talk to will see me like the stupid hick I was raised as and reject me.
I would really love to talk about brainstorming and how to bring out ideas. This was my last attempt: http://dvnt-spirit.livejournal.com/1288.html I made them with the idea that it was a small magic I could do to the world. The intent was to take them back to the park and hide them in the trees so that people would find them and have that odd little moment of wonder. But the night I went to do it, my friend sort of freaked out, being afraid we were going to get arrested so I had to abort the mission and they came back home with me instead. A whole second part of the exercise was that I would be doing something that I would never see the response to. It was meant to be an exercise in being free from ego, but when I ended up bringing them back with me, it became a trap. I was fond of them and I got attached to them. I guess that the project also lost its freshness for me, though I suppose it would still be fresh for whoever discovered them. Perhaps I should finish that project. :P
the things you see in your head are your thoughts finding patterns in the colorful splotches of light you see when you close your eyes, they are called "phosphenes". hallucinating on AND off drugs is the same thing, the shapes and patterns that you see on lsd or shrooms all follow mathematical formulas and patterns that are all over nature everywhere (such as the fibonacci sequence) - it just takes some people taking drugs to notice them. if you have a ceiling that is textured with paint splotches and focus on just one part the parts in the corner of your eye may start to wiggle. these hallucinations are fueled by your emotions and can get overwhelming when you are anxious or extremely pleasurable when you are happy. whenever i have a really inspiring thought, one of those "i finally figured it out!" type moments i see a rainbow version of the "thousand petaled lotus" and this is based off of the fibonacci sequence. try staring at the flame on a candle for 30 minutes and then closing your eyes and watching the pictures, people do this to tell the future
i don't believe in mental disorders the way other people believe in them. i believe that people who are diagnosed as crazy are a vast source of human potential. there are some people who are so "insane" that they live in a state of bliss where they have no doubt and everything is happy to them. i want that! i want to just be crazy and let go of my ego and be free from stress. i also believe that if you will something hard enough it will come true. i wished super hard for a clipboard and within a week i found it while i was outside tripping. the key here is to believe the unbelievable so that things that seem impossible can become reality. people who are "realists" are only preventing everyone else in the world from developing super powers and being super awesome - don't let them!
i definitely have trouble making friends. people always seem to have some kind of problem with me so i mostly just keep to myself and do my thing alone. sometimes i'll do my weird stuff in public and wait until someone approaches me then i have something to talk about and it's less awkward
I've had that problem with dogmatic religious conservatives. I don't hate them or think that their views are wrong, per se. Within their frame of context, their god is completely real and holds all the power over their life that they give to it, but in that reality, they've created no room for communicating with a person like me who is outside of their context even though I am fluid enough to both accept their identity and not have it as a part of my world. (This of course was not always the case, am evolving)
I do that too with being weird in public. I make/wear lots of strange costumes on a daily basis, work included. When I go to outdoor raves and things, I have a tent that is covered with airbrush paintings. I set it up near the dance floor as a chill space and put out a water bottle for people too to help keep people from getting dehydrated. Then I go off and do my own thing and let my camp interact with people for me. Generally works pretty well.