It’s like I woke up one day and everybody talkedt like me, like me and my friends, like my chosen family. Or like how my “family” told me I wasn’t supposed to talk, how they said I couldn’t talk because I wasn’t XYZ, but then fast forward to a future when and where I find out//realize, and have self determined to be ‘X’,’Y’, & ‘Z’. In a future where everyone talks like me, but presently, I don’t even talk like me. I’ve come to find out that I have never not been. And now I’ve come to realize that in some ways, I’ve always and never been Super Ex, Super Why, and Super Zee. Some people might even say that I am more X, Y, and Z than those permitted to be. Others can’t see it. It gives them friction, confrontation could cause their box to crumble. But 2 seemingly oppositional//conflicting things can both be true at the same time. Mm… paradox. We’re here for it. And I am no more X, Y, or Z, or any less than you, this, that, and the other 3rd. In fact, I don’t compartmentalize it. I refuse to. Because that’s what’s expected of me. Yet at the same time the box is important. A box can help. And conceptually it’s not that simple. You can’t have the square without the spectrum, or the spectrum without the line, or the line without a spectrum if that makes sense, (for a second I questioned the shape!) Maybe I mean distance! The beginning. Or was it the end? Maybe it’s a circle. Or a tube, a doughnut? But maybe only under the right conditions. Some people think it’s a horseshoe. What if it were chainmail? People have their theories. Where does it come from? Where does it go back to? Back to the beginning?

In the beginning… I feel like everything I’ve written before on the subject of art still applies. I’m tempted to include the old me’s thoughts because even though I now know more, or different, I still feel the way I did before. Maybe my thoughts are more expansive though. Like, we cracked an egg. A very expensive egg trying to expand upon their noodle.

Who am I? I’m definitely not static, that’s for sure!

‘An electron in superposition’ still feels accurate to me.

(That’s what I went with last year.)

Who am I? Where do I come from? Who do I come from? On one hand, I don’t really have an answer for that. There’s what is, what’s now, what was, some clues, some facts, a lot of missing information, lost information, but mainly a lot of questions. There are many questions that I’ll likely never get answers to. Questions that will just go unresolved. But ‘hey’, that’s life, right? Maybe it contributes to my artistic sensibility.

On the other hand, I could probably say, I come from several generations of ‘crazy’ people… sick, poor, oppressed, neglected, abused, scared, lost and otherly outsider type people who’ve consistently been treated as non-human.

In the beginning (bc there are multiple): my mom chose not to take medication while pregnant with me, and it resulted in her being hospitalized and forced to take medication in the last trimester leading up to my birth. We basically went from the psych ward to the maternity ward with no time in between. How’s that for an origin story?

In the beginning there were several generations of single mothers. There were several generations of absent fathers.

And in the beginning there was a whole lotta death.

Work

Brundleflylarva

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