As with most things, I am late.
Despite having this page for a few years, I’ve been all over the place regarding what exactly I wanted this to be.
I am a bricklayer. I am concerned with walls and keeping some things in and others out. I worry about height, about depth. I worry about whether I’ve used the proper ratios when making cement and whether everything is level. I build spaces meant to contain. But my bricklaying has been tireless, and I have built walls without end, rooms without doors, and windows without a sky to look out to. I have done whatever just to feel good about myself as I leave the worksite. This is masturbation. I’ve made nothing.
There was a lot of meat, with little spine, and so nothing really went anywhere. I had no blueprint or purpose for my walls and rooms.
And so, as many do, I wrung my hands until something came from the sweat.
And here is our blueprint.
This will not be a home, although it will house specific things. It will go underneath the earth and open up towards the sky in the center. The walls will be thick and sound absorbent. I will hear my own heartbeat and the occasional birdsong or rain as the center lacks a roof and holds a ladder to the sky in case I wish to leave.
There will be other smaller rooms shooting off the center, each in its own direction. Each has its own purpose. A room should have a purpose, or else it is four walls that exist only to hold up the sky ( which we should well know by now holds up fine on its own and needs no permission from meddling people )
Within these rooms:
I wish to explore nonsense things. I want to take them seriously.
I have lived three lives so far: one in living, one in visions, and one in dreaming of the visions existing in the physical plane. This is my fourth life, where things come to pass. I will live my life in these rooms.
Think of this building as a costume. We are making a play together. Without pretending I cannot become something or someone outside myself. That has been my lifelong goal: to transform.
This place will need a name, so I have called it Imaginary Essays, since these are not real essays. These interviews happen between me and myself in different spoken voices. I lack qualifications outside of audacity. Thusly, such a title will allow me to worm out from any dull criticism pointing out my apparent lack of qualification with a stern “I know.” That is the point. I am unqualified, and I do not care. I am not writing to do or be anything other than to answer a call or scratch an itch.
So welcome. And thank you.