IDEAS ON IDEAS.

In many respects, writing about ideas is a complete waste of time. I mean, why? Isn't this an idea as I write it?
Word. By. Word.
How did I do that? Well, by wanting to. That's the first, most vital thing, the desire to do. Now, sometimes, and with some people the doing part seems a likely thing at the time, then the usual distractions set in and before you know it, *poof* no more idea.
This all seems perfectly obvious.....except it's not. the difference between having an idea and transforming it into something that other people can utilize is the fact that where some people have on and do what it takes to make it "real" and those who instead let it slip away is the fact that to one person, this idea became to important to lose.
I tend to think that we are drowning in a sea of ever changing, always moving ideas. We are simply put, soaking in them. On the surface of things we live in a rather straight forward three dimensional world. That's what we are taught, that's what science tells us and out 'five" senses conspire to reinforce in us.
It's all a lie. The strange and terrible part about this is that it is so damned easy to believe. It even gets to me know and then, certainly more when I was younger, and doubly strange far far less when I was a child.
In many respects, I have been un-doing my training as a person for a very long time now. Don't get me wrong, I was one of those children who never quite swallowed the whole thing. I was a troublesome kid from birth.
I wanted to know, WHY.
Still do.
Not just why the sky was "blue" but what was the essential skyness in the sky. Not that it was water vapor refracting a certain wavelength of light but rather what kind of idea put a sky there at all. Was the sky I saw the same as yours? I looked very hard an saw something else. I still look very hard indeed. I am never satisfied with what I can see, as the more I look the more I see. If the more I see means that there is more to see, where does it stop? Does it stop?
And if I remember seeing the sky clearly as a child, and I am apparently not a child, what then?
I must be both right now. Well, that fucks up linear time. So, the sky and the child and the sky and the man are all right now. Right now.
How's that for an idea? There is no time.
Try drawing that.
Consciousness is everything. Everything is conscious. Even ideas. I am an idea.

That's what my life's work means...to open windows, to punch holes in reality as we know it and free whoever takes a chance can find something more according to each and every ones capacity. Even me. Every thing I make changes me and my reality while I make it. After I am finished it's your turn, I am already off into another reality, one I changed for myself as I did things. So, in a very real sense an idea changes everything.
Divine madness.
Oh, dear, you will have to excuse me, Rossetti just came downstairs and would like a cuppa.
Good as an exit line as I ever had.

Love to you all.
M.Z.

ps: hmmm....what about those bad ideas? oh, well, another time perhaps.

m.z.

pps: half an hour later. this the sort of shit i think about when I have a bout of insomnia. bugger.

z.