One day while staring out of a coffee shop window I realized that I wasn't there. My body sat and sipped, while a part of my mind, the equivalent of peripheral vision to the eyes, noticed that the rest of my mind had left me. I don't know why my body didn't just die that day. Something to do with the laws on inertia perhaps; my body was moving in one direction day after day for so long that it had to keep going in that direction.

The commercial jingles had burrowed into my brain like parasitic worms, so my mind had to seek isolation, at least until the consumerist crusade had called a ceasefire. My mind couldn't keep up with the social struggle and string of routine check-ups so it dissociated into an infinite void, a place it could leave the hideous world of social acrobats and small talk sickness.

Alienated by the masses it retreated to an 8 by 12 foot cabin. A tiny isolated oasis on a sparsely populated island surrounded by a circular wall of bark, low fog and ocean. Once and for all to be relieved of uncomfortable human interactions.

Mind ripped from body, dissociated. The body an autopilot object. Attached just enough, like a hand holding a helium balloon by a string. The mind unable to identify itself, relate to its own image, the mind takes flight to a string of internal parallel universes. Scattered input, disconnected objects, personified animals, alien interiors, alter-ego company. Creating a perfect parallel world, free of trademark idioms, and cabin fever cancers.

Nikon FM2
Carl Zeiss 28mm/2.8
Portra 400

self portrait