Bliss-Whitely

I've been sitting here in my small ass apartment for days mulling this over. I mean, think about it... if I were to take this idea and try to tell others about it, sell it to them as if it were a real thing that is palpable, You can touch it. Communicate with it, I would be dubbed the weird unstable occultist freak or something along those lines. Probably get lumped in with people like those crazy old ladies that are fanatical about Jesus. No disrespect to those ladies, whatever gets them through the day, right?

Thick Canson XL papers are fanned out on a small folding table in front of me. Four of them to be precise. A variety of completeness to be had, but all of them kept drawing my attention in ways that weren't normal. All of them are pictures that I drew when I was high out of my mind. I don't do anything stronger than weed, but still, that's not really the point of what I am trying to talk about.

These four pictures, done with mixed media, I never followed that rule of 'it all has to be one medium', its art for fuck sakes... who the hell are you to tell me how I create is wrong? I am getting off track again. These four specific pictures mean something to me in a deeper way than I was used to with any other art I have ever done.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not one to really like my art. I usually hate it even before I finish it. So it is something truly spectacular, and I use this word to describe my reaction to these specific pictures, not the actual pictures themselves, that any of my art would have me going back and looking at it over and over because there is just something about them.

Okay, so it's not really a big surprise that I discover my art is much different when I am high as opposed to when I am sober. Being high makes your perception change. Colors are different. Reason and motive are changed. All these doors that have been closed over the last forty-two years of my long and lonely life are suddenly flung open so that the stale air of creativity is jostled around and ideas dance and swirl like dry leaves in a windstorm.

I find new ideas and concepts come easier to me. They make me see them and stay with me as if the burning embers of a paper fire were kicked up and landed on my brain, melting onto my gray matter. And I find these things a lot harder to discard as silly ideas or impossible when I have a straight-up weed induced conversation with the things I have seen.

Just to be clear. It is November 2020. Weed is legal now in most states. And while I know I can attribute, at least in some form, the weed to this newfound ability of opening doors and seeing into parallel worlds, I am not advertising it as a means of clairvoyance or anything. I am not saying 'do weed, it's totally great for creative juices!" If you are going to use the weed, do it responsibly. There is my PSA before I completely fuck everything up for you.

After all of this, you are probably ready to lean through the great invisible wall that blocks me from you to strangle me and are yelling at me to get on with it. What was it that I saw in the four pictures that I have drawn in multimedia fashion, that I have had conversations with, that I have felt, smelled, heard? Simply put. I met beings from a parallel dimension.

Hear me out, don't throw me away so quick. At this point, I sound like a complete whacko. And you may be correct. But I decided to tell you my story anyway because... even if one person, just one, hears my story, understands... beliefs... then I would have done what they asked of me.

Who is 'they'? If you want to know. If you want to feel. Then throw away all the concepts you have ever been told about parallel planes of existence not existing. Open your mind to the idea that 'they' are closer than we thought.