to make

my Dad asked me a while back, wherever do you find the time to make blankets and all this other stuff? this question has been like a pebble in my boot, or maybe just a small piece of straw..over the last few days because I DONT have time - i really dont, if I make time, I am inevitably neglecting something else..and lately i have been on a real bender of making stuff and honestly it's not like I think it's going anywhere, like I know the stuff i make isnt earth shattering, or incredibly unique or beautiful, (or even useful maybe?) I think it's a survival thing. I make things - as a sacrifice to the wild soul. Who, has been baying at the moon for months now; insulted, heartbroken, and suffering from it's extended oppression in servitude to "paycheck" "culture" "status quo". At night when i lay in bed, I can feel it bucking around in my chest, kicking with it's hind legs to get out - threating to shatter ribs. I make stuff, to have "something to show for it", something tangible, touchable, viewable..for my labour. To show for the sacrifice of days, hours, of dry, uniform, mindless, hustling, clicking, meeting..to absolutely no end. Making stuff is part of the juice in life. even if its ugly, useless, weird, it's mine, and I can hold it in my hands.. and say hooray! i'm finished! .....

‘Culture has tremendous inertia,’ he said. ‘That’s why it’s culture. It works because it lasts. Culture strangles innovation in the crib.’ - unknown