This is a very “different” version of intimacy to share. Lat..

This is a very “different” version of intimacy to share. Lately, I am obsessed with Shadow Self and Subconscious Flow States. The juiciness found at the junction of these two is as addictive as sex To induce this state. Dance to high intensity music with deliciously dark, undercurrent notes then stop! Lay on the bell of the earth, and write, furiously, madly like a rabid hound, don’t think just DO DO DO! Write! it doesnt matter what you write just let your subconscious stream out in fluid, thoughtless mass. And that strange, goopy, unrefied mass of my subconscious is the Different kind of Intimacy I offer to share with you. This was written, unrefined, but the subconscious of a fast, fueriously typing Artemis this morning. Teshima Art Island, Japan, April 22nd 2023 Hello, I am alive. I am playing on the precipas of feeling things deeper than I knew them to be before. To tap into something terribly bigger than me. Something that makes me quiver and shake. Something that is founded on true knowing. What is true knowing if not the happening between doubt and reality. I am subordinate to my will and ever coming back to the beaches of solace. I will grow further than anything thats ever happened for me. I will reach out past the void and confront malice. I am charm and charming has me. What then is a subspace of mater, what then is the postulated fingering of time? The echos harmonious.. Scared of reaching a crux in the road. of not being the image I have of me. And so the shadow looms gloriously victorious in its barbarous t0rture. Hanging in sweet tenderness of orgasmic rage. Hanging in the heaven spaces between the crawl ladders. There is a force further within me than any of this. If writing is a way to it. Let the beaver damns of tomorrow never be built. let the lephracauns prophecy of gold never be found. There is no logic to a state of flow for the dimensions cannot be shunned if not fully grasped. I am my shadow looming. I am my shadow coming. If communications can never be spoke, what is art but communicating ideas. Things noticed and seen. A tampping and connection with myself beyond anything else. Why then not absolutely obliterate and show the knowings of it all. Resonances with Euphorist. This is the epitome of cloud space. A hangingment of all that is and ever will be. A combining of words that calls out for more obliteration than one has ever seen. Who are we but petals on the nile. An asimily of words floating down subspace. Coughing into voids of bubbling barnacles surfacing only for one spicing pluton of time then trailing into the forever stream of awayness. Make art. Dont fake art. Art it bad. Art is Sex. Its ridiculous and gross. And we need it. it smells funny. it makes us laugh. Do no let the brain drive. Know KNOW KNOW. know the immortality in your soul. Know the waking devil beneath the sheets is your salvation. Know no logical flow is ever in you but what cornucopia of cabbage barrages the back of you. Know that I am enough and exemplary as a piece of shit in a sideboard computer program every will be and THAT is life. Inevitable. Invictus. Life life LIFE.