25 January 2024

Tidal wave. My version of Hokusai's tidal wave. It flickers and snows and shimmers. Wave after wave. It mounts the land incrementally, building volume, immensity. Not by spectacular peaks, but universal overwhelming waves. Repetitive. One big monotonous ocean. An ocean world. Eternity. Death approaching death. In electronic pixels, moving from the bottom toward the top. And then suddenly imposes itself as a monstrous peak. Sublime. I stand on the shore, paralyzed. Mesmerized. Time stops. At first, I am above the waves, watching them approach the land, wave after wave. Then I am on the shore facing an approaching wall of pixelated water. I long to be above the waves again, but I cannot fly. I am paralyzed. Jacob’s ladder. I see the angels ascending and descending. I see the archaeology of my being in layers of water. I am cold and in pain as the wind beats the sand against my body. Yet here, outside the painting, I feel close to God. I listen to the rain and the thunder and imagine the lightning. I enjoy it all. Then I start to feel hungry, and the 'real' world calls me back. When I speak in tongues, does it look like this? Does it sound like this too? Does it have to be those ghastly clicking and guttural Hebraic sounds that I hear people make in church? Is my aesthetic telling me that that is not what you meant? It is whatever you want it to be. I just want to be with you. As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you. Don’t wanna lie here, but you can learn to. Because only rhyming the last word was too easy for Billie. They don't deserve you.