I dream too much. It’s strange. I also know that I am not in my body when I dream. I am traveling. The dream, the images of it, happen outside of my head not inside. I don’t need my brain, a brain, to dream nor does it need me. I say “my brain” when, in fact, I am certain that I belong to it. I am my brain’s body. I am its person and servant and when I am at the height of rational logic, my brain (and the mind passing through it) allows me a glance at the substance of its travels where I bring together the artifacts from such trips. Then I get back into my vehicle and search for the evidence of those other connections, combinations, collisions, the regions that have been pulled apart by whatever it takes to exist here. I think we can call that thing the opposite of art.
A dream uses all the ingredients of reality to reach beyond reality. Throw it all in, the lumps in the gravy and the glitches. Everything belongs together, especially in Art. The photographic frame has a habit of taming the traffic. I don’t dream in frames but on the way to that place where we stand before that great mass of consciousness and snitch on human behavior, I pass my experiences (rearranged) as the raw stuff of weightlessness. Stay still, lay there, leaping through the Neo Techno of sleep. Tell the Afrofuturists that the events of the Book of Revelation already happened. The higher the daydream the less light it has access too. After I see the photograph, I remember it as a new memory of an old dream, often as underexposed as a nightmare, same as the moon (like LP vinyl) being perfectly round.
I’ll allow anything into a photograph if it’s cooked properly. These things made elsewhere want to be together so badly they come together made for the first-final time in camera, forcing themselves on the flat sight of comfortable knowing. They bring sound with them, and a ceiling-less maze of clashing passion. So busy, groggy resume in hand, being a secretary to categories. Middle name: ism, miscellaneous, apropos. Property of the collectible copper lens cap of intellectual property not the other way around. I’m not sure which way a bed should face but mine faces the floor above. This is the adventure I look forward to, the adventure I fear: the rapid, daily deletion that makes the old world unrecognizable.
