The Boy With The Thorn In His Side
When I was younger I had a reoccurring nightmare about a far off place full of dark things. I remembered forcing my eyes open to escape it. As the years passed, the images began to fade and I had the dream less and less. It’s like part of your imagination being overactive and never sleeping. As I’ve grown older I’ve found myself thinking of it more fondly, trying to remember how these scenes played in my mind and inventing new ones.
Using some of the best underground artists I have ever met (whose work continually takes my breath away), I hope to explain myself. Here they take the form of criminal sketch artists, and have made what amounts to drawings of suspects. This is how they looked to the best of my memory. I am just a cartographer. At best this is a map that will get you back to this world, and at worst this is me spilling the best secret I ever had.
This dream used to make me afraid to sleep. I remember begging my Mom for half hour increments to put off the inevitable, the unavoidable. I used to think of every happy thought in my head before I went to sleep in a desperate effort to escape it. And then one day it just went away.
This is me at my most honest. My most naked. I think somewhere in everyone is The Boy. No one wants to be what they are. This is cliche and trite, but it is mine. Don’t sleep.