creation has begun to disappear on me.
the world has broadened of late, spinning on into infinity and permitting new complications in the form of ideas, spilling over from a dozen new stashes and chaotically organized. my mind has grown cluttered, temperamental: memory has eluded me for some months, holding back numerous actions from me and dropping something entirely within two heartbeats of thinking it.
the work is out of reach now, tantalizingly close and at the same time feeling very far away. over the last few months the work has become a new way of communicating with the world around me – now, with my ability to complete it neutralized, my own communications with the world are by extension diminished.
genius, is the label that they have given me – they hear my tales of a garret-like solitude, watch me supplement my energy levels with caffeine and see me tap my nails to an invisible rhythm. they put the label in place and then wander off to wait for the results, not noticing or concerned with the fact that this is now half the problem. i work through my nights, running up sleep debts every month and never managing to pay them back in time to get the next project done.
they’re praising something that isn’t there though, because the new work is old dressed in new magic and thematically there’s enough to begin a collection but no-one notices this either, never wanting to know how the magic is made.
there’s ivy climbing the walls of the garret now, just beginning to cover the lowest inches of the windowsills, and on my least efficient days i sketch the window, superimpose ivy woven all across it until there are only a few rays of light streaming through and i don’t need to pull curtains for privacy. this happens sooner than i expect.
the heating is weak now, an old building only supporting a few electrical items at a time and not enough to send warmth consistently throughout.
(these inefficient days happen more often – there’s a divide of work now, categories done and not done, two stacks side-by side and reflecting the distance it takes for creation now)
there’s chaos without creation now.