Things are going very well. Once I realized that I had to take apart every single previously done thing and make it one with our layout, it was simple to give up a day and do it. As usual, it’s easier to do a thing right than to spend lifepoints trying to work around it.
Except for the tedious long peyote start, which is, as far as I can tell, always worth avoiding, because it contributes nothing in return for its gestation and creation. Once accomplished, it is simply there, of no more significance or use than any other row of peyote stitch. Meh. I have no use for filler. My life isn’t a goddamned Twinkie.
I keep thinking about that singularity I mentioned when an image is in process of moving from one way of being to another, that instant when it is all gathered, like a lion, in some narrow bar or point of pixels. I’ve never been able to properly articulate what I’ve been trying to do with my own self because I’ve never seen it, but that image is very useful. My desire to become very very small is a practical one, obviously, just more physics. Last week when I said I could see my future across the room, meeting my past… it’s all the same snake and tail, moving closer every second.
Larry is my ally, my brother in arms, not just to pull my facets into one being, but to smallerize me. When I was a scattered field of experience and intention, when I was a chock-full Bus of Fools, I thought to be effective meant cohesion, concatenation. But once I cohered, I was still too big. I had to find more/less.
I have twice lobbied for a Drink Me bottle somewhere on the cover of CGB, and by God it will be there. Full of amber liquid, on a round tray with beadwork in progress.
(Oh, suddenly, I know what to do. OMG. Wait until you see. If I am graced to live until Sunday, I can hold that tail for the head to nip, a perfect circle of ouroboroustic win.)
In electronic graphic design, there are ways of seeing. Modes of being. In some modes, the underlying superstructure is revealed, and you can easily see things that are implied, perhaps, but obscure from a “real life” view. Suddenly, with a click, pitfalls and unused I-Beams appear; passageways to other dimensions, explanations for the odd or ungroovy behavior of individual elements. Under this type of seeing, what was otherwise incalculable is obvious. Like when you look at a palimpsest under multiple spectra, and you can see the hidden manuscript.
Standing under this John Lautner roof explained something to me, as did climbing the superstructure of the Buckydome in Montreal. The structures of the universe are inevitable; they inform every thought as well as everything that has expressed as matter. Whether you see the structure with your eyes is a choice, or perhaps a discipline of study. It can be cloaked or exposed, or both at once.
photos of Lautner’s Sheats-Goldstein house in LA by artjocks as seen on DesignBoom, click to see entire spread
I remember with great clarity the day about a decade ago that I looked at my beadwork and suddenly, like when a 3-D print snaps into focus and there is a woman in a lawnchair looking out at you from what you thought was a field of dots, suddenly I saw the superstructure, the thread matrix inside the colorful tubes of glass. It was like a system of capillaries, a train network, a neural path. Except it wasn’t, because I, the architect, had not even posited its existence and so what it actually was was a mishmash of threads that could have intersected in useful fashion, but sadly did not.
And I saw the waste, and I wept for how dumb I was, and I exulted in how clever I was to realize how dumb I was. And then I remembered that I was still dumb, but that day, I knew one more goddamned thing.
I visually think of the things I know, because my mind is a palace. Each thing I think about has colour, and life, and if I look at it with stillness it will play like a movie. An older movie, though, something huge and deeply colored. Like a David Lean movie; Lawrence of Arabia, maybe. (Lawrence again.)
I think of the things that I know like little prizes, hard-won, slotted into the bandolier I wear across my breast, stuffed with little rolled up scrolls and tiny plastic swords from action figures and cocktail sets.
Each thing I get to know, each structure I am privileged to see jump out of that field of dots, or flowers, or photographs of beadwork is cherished by me, like a particularly sparkly rock. Not knowing the thread matrix was a superstructure that affected every single thing about my beadwork didn’t mean it didn’t exist, didn’t mean that I wasn’t making it with my hands. Not understanding its potential didn’t mean it had no effect on my work.
“Cherish those who seek the truth but beware of those who have found it.”
I did a Tarot reading yesterday, because yesterday seemed like a big day, and I thought, “Pay attention!”
I opened my deck of cards, which is too new, and which I have not become one with, and I wrestled open the still-too-tight box, and the cards were not tied with ribbon, and they are still stiff, and I decided to take only one card from the middle, and then decide what to do next.
It was the Wheel of Fortune, and I thought, I have never had that card. There are powerful cards I pull all of the time, but never this one. The Wheel of Fortune is the ultimate snake and tail card; it is about inevitability, lifeworks, circles of cause and effect, of advancement in time that will happen apart from our desire to influence it.
It was too important, that card, and also, I hadn’t been holding the deck, and I stopped, and I pulled up an online Tarot instead. Imagine my surprise to see, in the middle, glittering like the center post in the architecture of the cards, the Wheel of Fortune card again.
The reading spoke of things that surprised me, that cut to the quick of a lot of crap. The Three of Wands stood in the position of Obstacle, which is correct and amusing, and the Five of Cups, which represents loss, and my disappointment in other people’s willingness to surrender to love, stood in the Foundation.
At the top, the goal, the end of the journey, the inevitable and longed-for conclusion, stood the stunning and glorious Three of Pentacles, which represents a mastery of works, a gathering of skill, a time of completion.
To the right was the World card, and I wept.
It was a striking and beautiful summary, a precis like one I could not have written, and it left me full of all of these words, which number too many, and a fresh wind in my sails for the remaining days, which I only need borrow one toe from Miss Fish to count. 21.