Inside a broken box

Sunday morning, I woke exhausted from a dream that was strange even by my standards… At some point the dream turned lucid, the me inside the dream taking care to notice and remember the symbols I saw so as not to forget them on waking… The me outside of the dream knew it was time to get up or I’d be late… The me inside the dream was stood trying solve a problem… I couldn’t remember how to get back to the room where I’d entered the dream. I thought that was the way out… Outside me asked – Is there anything in there that you really need? The in the dream me replied NO and instantly I was out and awake…

The whole of Sunday was a weird day… Although I’d left the dream, it didn’t feel as though the dream had left me… It felt like somehow it had followed me out… Little snippets rerunning and repeating… Words I’d heard in the dream, echoing… Weaving in and out the conversations around me… Annoyingly as I was driving, I heard the words write this down. I remember thinking argh… Stop! I can’t write anything down… The voice in my head telling me well then you will have to remember this… For 5 or 10 minutes I mentally replayed word for word until I thought I had them securely in mind… Half an hour later and poof they’d vanished, though some kind of wordless feel of the jist remained…

This morning again, chunks of the dream keep returning into my waking day… But still I can’t recall the message I was told not to forget… I get home from work and decide that maybe I should throw cards at the dream to see what sticks… Instead I find myself climbing on a stool to rearrange pictures… I have 3 more I want to hang, my indecisiveness in where they exactly need to live is rendered somewhat irrelevant as I’ve lost my stash of picture hooks and my tool bag that’s always in the same place has vanished to elsewhere… Hmm… Maybe I should get the cards out…

Nope… I find myself in the cupboard under the stairs, wondering hmm… What’s in the smashed up and taped back together box…

I open it to find a box of dead ideas, rough sketches, and experimental ways of trying to put images out of my head down onto paper… I’ve spent the last couple of months psyching up for my next project, dilly dallying over style… Part of me wants something very clean and stylised, part of me wants to just let loose… I’m not sure that something overly abstract will convey the underlying structure that I have for this next project… Yet, I doubt my faith in my hand to produce anything precise and with clean cut lines…

I open up the box of scraps…

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Then I look at two scraps… A stylised pen drawing and a waxing done on an transparent sheet and I bring them both together…

Now, this may or may not be the way my next project goes but suddenly I remembered that message…

Well… I remember the message of the message but I’m buggered if I can cull out the wordy wordiness to get it back to its blissful brevity… So I’ll embrace the message and see where it takes me… And if by some outside chance, I land the phrase with the elegance of a zen master… Then I’ll come back and write it…

But basically it’s about fuck rules and double fuck people who set themselves up as gatekeepers… Access denied implicitly grants liberation…

Access denied implicitly grants liberation…

Well fuck me! I remembered it! I guess I’m a non card carrying member of everywhere outside the broken box…