a dream of transience

[click image, video, hour and a half]

A representation of my mother was griping at me in such derogation that I erupted into a rage, screaming at her that she was never to speak to me this way again, over and over I was hollering that I am 52, beyond all that. I don't know why I picked that age, because I'm 56, but the essential message is certainly preserved anyway. This took place in a warehouse loft that was either only half-constructed or half-demolished... no telling... that I believe was supposed to be home. Still the non-story covered parts of campsites and resorts and convenience store parking lots and parts of roads and swaths of surf rising up from nowhere to kiss all these things. There was still beauty but it generally lacked much verdure and contained mostly sand. I moved through it with purpose, saving being along my way, a sort of disaster relief expert with no base of operations, and no feeling of disaster particularly, not even a determination, but simply expression of something inherent... living responsibility without even stopping to call it that, think of it that way... just the essential alive in the ephemeral.

My Buddha Machine was playing in the background.