a return

it should come as no surprise that he came to me, but it was, even though i should know that he always returns when i do.*

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last night, i flipped a bird to my dirty dishes i need to wash, my checkbook i need to balance, my bills i need to pay, my neat piles of laundry that need to be hand-washed, mended or ironed, and even the next chapter of the artist's way that i need to read; all insulted in order that i could paint. it's been a while since my creative self has been used. maxed out in the wake of creating and distributing a wide scale {for me} collaborative project {yes, i think just about everyone's received their envelope finally, so i'll announce the details soon}, i went dormant for a while. hibernating in extended phone calls and novel-length text messages to the friend i announced meeting on the same day the first envelope was returned {see here if you've forgotten}.

and what a lovely return it was. one that no matter how many times i make it, it never ceases to surprise me how effortless it is to be alive in creative spaces. and alive in a way that only today, i was able to articulate that is not possession of creativity, or my ability to create, but merely in a state of perpetual wardenship to this force that i present myself to and it passes through me, bypassing all conscious decision-making skills and dialoging only with a set of pre-verbal instincts that are crystal clear in their process from intention to manifestation, even if they don't let me in on the process. the painting last night happened and suddenly i'm ready to place the finishing touches on it and how did i even get there? it was thrilling.

and so, last night, as my reward, or rather as proof of reuniting me with my creative self, thom yorke paid a visit. it was backstage after a concert and somehow i was there slightly on the sly. i was hoping no one would notice and kick me out. he was taking care of post-show business including signing stacks of posters fans had put out for him to autograph. i had slipped a few into the stack and he asked me to help him pick out which ones to sign. i noticed he had already selected mine and somewhat flattered, i had gone through the stack picking out the most interesting looking posters {one from the bends, one from hail to the thief, etc. it was this quiet bonding time that was interrupted when others joined us. there was talk of future concerts and he invited another person present {randomly i think it was someone i knew from highschool} who had been helping him to come backstage the next time he was in seattle. my reaction of shock and awe was such that he turned to me and included me in the invitation. that somehow opened a door between us and suddenly we're talking about the spring tour, coachella, the magic of the 2nd new york city show and i saw that he got it. he got me. i wasn't shy or nervous, i just was, and he appreciated it. and when they asked him who he'd like to drive him back to the hotel, he gestured to me and said her and i realized he didn't even know my name yet, which was fine, he would.

there was more, and i woke up after and had the sudden mid-night-mid-morning-too-early urge to get up and write it all down, because this was the closest we have ever been and it was a relief.



*again, i feel i should repeat in case the reader forgets, i know that thom yorke in my dreams is not about the man, thom yorke, but the idea of the penultimate artist that he represents.

currently listening to: fog - radiohead