waiting on

I haven't been in a holding pattern before...I haven't felt the absolute stagnation and doubt of the blank before some potent starting point. I feel that now.

This time is an exercise in absence not presence. In South America the key to enjoyment was the present. Now it seems the only strategy is to survive off the sustenance of promised futures. I want to purge, to shed my exoskeleton, clear my mind but it only seems to become more cluttered, enclosed, woven and interlocked like an ant-hill's winding tunnels. I feel unable to move from this spot, this space, this world I am creating through my being. It is isolating and dizzying.

I crave contact but evade it. I do it to myself through my visions and mimes of others. The projector plays on, further and further from the conversations and interactions the film is based on. I watch on, captive to my own confining creation. I am my own prisoner. Why can I not feel the key in my pocket?