Nobody told us to lead a life of creating things; birth didnt come with an instructional manual on how to figure out things. On one hand it might be the lego blocks speaking to you at a very young age, whispering in your ear, to build them lego cities of green and yellow brick when youre asleep.
It wasnt hard for us to begin with, after years of flipping words and drawing mockup magazines with photo captions of a band named Stinkin Fart, because in the end, it will matter after all.
Father was a builder and a worker and mom was a tender, so we were left alone on drowsy afternoons legs spread apart on the floor building, drawing, reading; experiencing the infancy and promise of life, absorbing lucid images to visit twenty years later during depressive times. Days were longer, and time was an abstract expression between spaces of hands on a clock face; unsynonymous to money and opportunity. Now we have learned the perversion man put on to something he himself has made.
The first day you drew Saturn’s rings correctly you ran down the staircase, leaving your blue plastic desk and your books that both terrified and mystified you at an early age. When you were taught of the universe, it became the four corners of your nonexistent walls, and you dreamed of making it through the multitude of suns and their sons floating in the blackness of space.