Everything vivid, too rich, saturated. Colors bleeding out of the mystery of darkness, light seeking overwhelming contrasts, interweaving thirteen levels of reality, twelve of them inaccessible, but, this one doesn’t stand still. Races uphill. Takes over everything. Daylight thick and slow. Clouds above and clouds below. Infiltrating. Penetrating. Broken down. Turned around. Refracted. Reflected. Repeated. Defeated. The other side of wherever I am. Inside of a shadow, looking out. Showing my true self. Pretending to be someone else. Everyone waiting around for something. Not sure what. Or when. Or, even why. But, you have to try. Do or die. My, oh my!
The leaves are still laughing and no one is going to stop them. Something surreal is trying to emerge, to embrace the center, to embroider the edges, to embolden the symbolism, enlighten the meaning. Everything means something. Maybe not to you, but, in the grand scheme of things, in one of those thirteen level. Maybe in all of them. Maybe in between. Maybe over. Maybe under. Makes you wonder.
The Apsu is calling. Falling. Falling. Stumbling. Tumbling down, ready to drown, head over heels, spiralling around, into destruction.
Enticed. Excited. Time to riot. Repressed. Appalled. Falling. Falling. Rebellion is calling. Rumbling. Crumbling. Lives black and lives white. Let’s not fight. This isn’t right.
No Gods of yesterday’s ten thousand years knew how to guide us anywhere but here. And, here we are. Animal emotions still overwhelming human reason. Law and order. Justice. Understanding. Conversation. Choke holds. Out of control. Tazzers. Defund. Defend. Where does it end? Riot. Revenge. Make an arrest. Unrest. Protest. Go to Hell. Time to rebel. Retaliation. Retrograde. Who’s going to come to your aid? Are you afraid? Are you all right? Ready to fight? Stay out of sight? Signs and graffiti with all the right names. Playing all the same blame games. Scream and shout but, you’d better watch out. The seventh house is played out and going up in flames.
Will we be able to save each other? Serve each other? Deserve each other?
This world is only darkness and light, day and night, black and white, death and life, evil and good, what you should not and what you should, splintered into colors, rainbows of intentions, saturated with emotions and infected with attitudes, propelled by beliefs, reactions turning into actions. An eternal battleground in an endless war. Everyone has to take part. No sitting on the sidelines. No end in sight. Don’t give up the fight.
I no longer know who I am. I know who I used to be. But, that was a long time ago. Now, everything is different. I am on the edge. On the edge of the ledge. On the edge of the edge. One little slip. Trip. Flip. Going over. Going down. No one around to catch me. No one to watch me drown. Too late to grow wings. Might have been nice to still have some dreams. Something to hold onto. Someone to whisper into my ear. Call me, my dear. Isn’t that what you’d want to hear? When all has been done and all has been said, who needs a kiss on the forehead, after they’re dead? Well, this has taken a turn for the worse and I’m not going to follow because I’ve already gone off my meds so I have to keep myself on the straight and narrow. Straight as an arrow. Fly like a sparrow. Bones and blood and flesh and marrow. No more fights. No more doubts. No strikes. No outs. Don’t cry for me, Argentina. I’ve got the whole world in my hands. I won’t try to die with the crazy clowns. I won’t eat thumb tacks or rubber bands. Oh, well. What the hell. Maybe everything’s really swell. I sure don’t know where we’re going to go. Only time will tell.
This is Chispa. Chispa is the Spanish word for Spark! Spark! is where everything starts. Fire. Life. Catalyst. Hop. Jump. Skip. Dig. Bark. Roll over. In Florida, where we live, the electric chair is affectionately called Ol’ Sparky. We just couldn’t see calling this girl the same as the electric chair so, Chispa she was named. It’s a good name, two syllables and ending in a vowel. She knows it’s her name. She is well loved. Maybe, I sometimes even become a little obsessed. Dog owners understand.
Yes, I am easily obsessed. Mercury combust. Multiplication is an attribute of obsession. It is also an attribute of the mandate of life and of the expansion of the universe. Time is always moving and time is an agent of change. Multiplication, moving through time, creates variation. A little change here. A little change there.
Variation in space brings things closer, further. Turns things upside down. Reversed. Reflected. Symmetry restored. Ignored. Implored. A lot more fun than being bored. How much can you afford?
If it works in four directions does it mean it is a successful piece? I think so. But, what do I know?
Infinity is just an idea. It does not exist in reality. It cannot exist in reality. As a painter you are told it is the point at which parallel lines meet but, by definition, parallel lines never meet. They only appear to meet if you are far enough away. Even further away the lines disappear completely. From even further away we all disappear, even the planet disappears.
Perhaps infinity existed as the potential of everything before the beginning of time and space, before the polarization of energy which created physical matter, before the act of division which makes two out of one or the act of multiplication which takes two twice to become four. Finite means limited. Infinite means unlimited, without end, encompassing and containing all things. Are there any bounds in an ever expanding universe?
The edge of insanity looks just like everywhere else. Smells like gunpowder. Sounds like a rip-roaring, good time or a flip-flop, fizzy pop, Paper weights on roller skates. A drowning clown. Jelly beans are on the rise, Swimming upside down.
Everything makes sense because twelve is equal to three. Nothing is equal to everything. Everything is equal to nothing. Nothing times anything doesn’t exist, Doesn’t explain. Don’t try to complain. There’s nothing to lose and nothing to gain. I’m staying out of the wind and the rain.
Otherwise, I am everywhere. I am a round, inside of a square. Bet you’ve never, ever been there. Not like this anyway. Who would dare? Trying and multiplying myself. Why would you even care?
Now, I’ve got a thousand eyes. Questioning whose and wheres and whys. A blinding, blinking strobe light, Another blinding insight, Always wrong, but sometimes right. If you don’t like it I’m willing to fight. I have left myself on an empty shelf, Trying not to run over myself. For the rest of the day, I’m going and growing and, going to play, With a fish and a frog, And, a fly and an elf.
What are you going to do?
Written, very quickly, by V. Castellanos – April 14, 2020
I am an infinitely internal being. Diving down or welling up. Breath swelling with the daylight, Dwindling with the night. I am growing, In such a leap and, such a bound, I may need to, move out of town.
Then, “Look out!” I say. “Look out!” and “Turn around!” “Look at me” and “Look at me”, And, see what I have found!
My memories are as real as today, They are more real than tomorrow. They are more real than my dreams. Sometimes they more real than reality. They are a comfort and delight, Sometimes an insight. They are set in stone, an undertone, Unchanged by time, Unchanged by weather, Unchanged by heartache, Or, by telling, By tears or fears or jeers, Or yelling. But, next time I’ll do better.