A handful of years ago I was on an island in North Carolina. After dinner I walked down a large dock surrounded by sea oats that led to the ocean. The dock was sparcly lit and the night was such that all you could see were the tiny lamps along it's edge. I walked to the edge with a strange feeling of dejavu and welcome.
Recently, at my Grandfather's funeral, I began a speech I had preparded by stating that it's impossible to know where things begin and where they end. Our lives are such that at some point nature and nurture, experience and memory, scars and badges all become the same thing. The beauty of nothingness, the single point that is the edge and then end, is an impossible dream.
I used to film myself so I could see myself, so I could get an idea of the things that were me. I did this for so long I don't know who that person is anymore because I don't know who I am. Where I start and stop is lost in the now, a formless floating existance with this idea of manifest destiny like a carrot at the end of a string which will always be just out of reach. When I see myself on TV it's just a TV. When I've lost control, I'm looking at a TV. There's an image of a person who I know is me but I don't understand, beacuse I don't know where things begin and where they end.
I'm a pile of secrets and a face on a screen.