Inv sible

Artist: Peter Wilkinson

I struggle with self worth because I lack the responsibility to truly define myself. I'm scared of being defined. Maybe, subconsciously, I'd rather my story be homogenized with the culture. Even though I feel ashamed of my sense of time.

What do we really share? A mind? What addictions do we cradle? What works do we covet? What stories do we tell?

Grow old to multiply and then what? Get bored? See our offspring multiply? We are all our offspring. We are all one race. Why is this greed programmed? Can't we start looking at the impact of our moment?

Sisyphus culture.

When we get home from our numbing jobs we look for instant gratification, a way to escape the responsibility of physical domain. At least we are learning to see past the physicality.

Can a person be defined by how and where they create meaning? Probably. What does that mean for me; subservient retail body rented to the highest bidder? My individual meaning doesn't deserve notice within the culture?

Have you any suggestions to prevent suicide? I'm not asking for myself... it's for a friend... someone very close. Maybe it's selfish of me to want to hold on but... who am I to suggest there is more to the life?

I've held on to things for too long. But too long doesn't exist. Certain frequencies resonate within certain periods of life; through the heart, through the cells, through the hormones... the synapses... the genes. It depends on the nature of the relationship. I guess ours are hierarchical. Humanity is still a theory of dominance.

I'm not afraid of death... I'm afraid of life. How do those ideas become?

I see the old white man that might be young. Tanned to a brown with a shark tooth necklace, hair singed by the sun. I see the black man, bald, with a destructively powerful handshake, vibrating confident masculinity. I see the white, house mothers in their support groups at coffee shops talking about their youth, draped in comfortable clothing; unaware of the nature. We all feel the power. How do you feel it? How do you become aware of that responsibility?

Even in the cell, when the autonomy has been erased, excruciatingly; the power still exists. Even in the gutter, layered in tattered cloth, huddled around the fires in the pipes feeding the LA river. Our power flows, we are the veins, we are the cells as much as we feel the walls. It's all around you. Us Sisyphus. Us Icarus. Us servants. Bathing in the overwhelming power of life.