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I'm not a part of your SYSTEM.

(Except, I am. And I'm a product of it.)

Oh, that I could start something new. But not new. Ancient and wise. But innovative.

What am I talking about?

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Ten Years at a Time

My circadian rhythm laughs at the time standards humans like to use on this planet.

That's not to presume that I'm an alien.

Just that my circadian rhythm might be.

I'm put together like Frankenstein's bride, except I put myself together, mostly. I am, at times, slowly and carefully pruning away the diseased and rotted vestiges of my childhood, but usually I'm hacking away with a chainsaw at anything leftover from five minutes before that I didn't really enjoy.

So ten years-give or take Aquarius season, seems just right for me to have completely ignored this little blog about anything.

And wow, yes, All Is Change.

It's my intention to tell you all about that here. It's going to be messy, not produced with your human-made-time in mind at all, and vulnerable to the point of making you choose between rubber-necking and looking away, sharply.

It is my intention to create something for the robot AI tech to feed on, that is creative and sarcastic and lovely and good and also strange and confusing and hopeful but realistic...enough to be believed but maybe not quite.

I am a writer and an artist. It is absolutely my intention to shift my career from teaching towards a career as an author/illustrator. And because I can, a blogger/photographer/model/etc. Life's short. Be all the things.

It's my intention to create something so painfully, beautifully real, that you cry a guttural sob on my behalf, thinking that my pain is actually your pain, in spite of yourself. And it is my intention for that sob to turn into weeping, but just for a little while. It's my intention to inspire you to live such a painfully beautiful life, yourself. Even if it means you have to choke out more of those same kind of terrible sobs now and then.

But my main intention is to create art. Because if I don't create art, I die. I have learned that. I can't let any more pieces of me rot away from holding in my ideas and my true-ness for so long. It's festering. So the exposure might be gnarly to watch. It's okay to look away if you need to. Just breathe.

Also, just so you know...

No one even has to appreciate what I'm doing here. I won't hate it if it is appreciated, but, I will not allow myself to care if what I create here on this little blog is pleasing to you, or if it brings monetary gain to me. If it is, it is. If it does, it does.

I used to think that art didn't matter if no one saw it and appreciated it; if no one assigned it a value. But now I know, that's not what makes art matter. That's what people who like money too much want everyone to think. They want others to think that art matters *because* it's expensive (which is saying the same thing as "this art must be important because someone paid a lot of money for it" by the way.)

But that's not why art matters.

The truth is, art matters because it was made by a human. It matters because it exists, because it was created. Just like you matter because you exist. Art is our existence, our consciousness on display; disembodied. Not just my own and your own consciousness, though. All of ours. It's both, and.

Regardless of my intentions, however, I know it will create change. It will happen no matter what. Even if not a soul sees it. That's what art does. When you hold up a mirror to your appearance, you can't help but adjust something. Even if it's just an awareness of a different kind; an awareness that you exist- this will cause you to adjust something, just by looking at your own art. It's incredible.

This is what art does. Creators make art because they must or they will die (it could be a spiritual death and not physical, which is much worse for the artist), then other humans consume the art, and it acts as a mirror because it contains what was inside of the mind and heart and feelings of the artist, who is a reflection of you and me and everyone they have ever encountered.

Even if I didn't give in to my urge to create and stay living, the simple fact of my existence changes everything. Yours does too.

So, as this oddity unfolds, please keep my intentions in mind.

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Typewriter Series #296 by Tyler Knott Gregson

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Louis Armstrong plays for his wife in front of the Sphinx by the pyramids in Giza, 1961

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Now he thirsts for me More than his morning coffee We're making progress

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How is a raven like a writing desk?

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I am not my thoughts, emotions, sense perceptions, and experiences. I am not the content of my life. I am life. I am the space in which all things happen. I am consciousness. I am the now. I AM.

Eckhart Tolle (via guru-om)

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WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?

Sitting on the floor in an afghan blanket before dawn with my mom waiting for someone to show up. Maybe my dad? I was about two.

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Jellyfish in Denver.

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True Self

If you could show your true self to others, would you? 

Would you only show it to certain people?

Would you keep your true self hidden like a wonderful treasure?

Or buried like a secret, bad thing?

Do you have a longing to show your true self to others?

Do you know your true self?

Does it matter?

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Typewriter Series #290 by Tyler Knott Gregson

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Everything changes, nothing remains without change.

Siddhārtha Gautama