Edward E. Wilson

Originally posted: Mon, Nov. 28th, 2005 01:24

He exists twenty four hours a day (a concept that has lost all meaning to him) Every four hours or so he sleeps for twenty minutes. He nibbles raw fruits vegetables and nuts constantly, he drinks green tea and water in alteration He exercises in the middle of what you call night and and what you call afternoon (although he recognizes neither concept) He sleeps on the bus he sleeps on a fifteen minute break he sleeps in the corner of the bar. Remembering his dreams he writes them down acts them out in Gestalt self therapy every other wake cycle he keeps writing the whole four hours smoking pot from a long thin pipe typing away on his laptop filing words into a database to be mined later when he is in a design or edit mood he is always travelling he is always social and ever alone he is cutting up newspapers ads comics his own printouts he draws or paints over these collages digitally photographs the results and posts it all on web pages communal and solo tagged and searchable always reusable composting art is both life and soil. Every forty eight hours he eats a heavy protein meal maybe even some meat cooked or otherwise after some of these “meals” he sleeps for a longer two hour. He has experimented with the magic of Julius Evola and spends long periods with his locus of consciousness at his hara (center) he goes regularly to a dojo where he practices aikido and elsewhere to a yoga studio. He takes his courses through his computer so wherever he is his education is there his courses are just an excuse to read different books and write different pieces freed of lust of grade he is quite successful simultaneously charming and impressing people he hasn’t met half the time he annoys the ones he has but he is tolerated even loved granted the status of full on eccentric. Wandering the streets at night he takes pictures and makes recordings putting symbols and numbers on a printout map putting them together on a interlinked interface for google maps befriending the street crazies he tastes their prophesy and archive hidden in their now making toys and tools out of other people’s junk.