Cracked Perfection; Exposé

Yesterday I looked at myself in the mirror and I noticed a huge crack of unequal size and of very strange shape. I thought I was injured. I’m not. I would remember that for sure. For a second I thought it was yet another illusion, but it was not. Lately, it becomes my custom to mix dreams and reality. It’s weird because I like to dream. My dreams and reality cannot be compared. The reality is like a bogey.

I see the cracks all around me, and the biggest of them I am looking at in the mirror right now. I cannot see reality as it is. All I see at this point in my life are various cracks without form, with colors or without, as if they were dreams or the horrible face of reality. Sometimes I like standing out. Sometimes I hate myself because I’m different. Sometimes I like to talk about the ‘I’. Sometimes I am talking about myself in the third person. I’d solve everything if I could find a way to connect these cracks. They are similar to each other yet they are unique, each of them on its own majestic way, incomparable to each other.

All right, I will reconcile with the fact that I am a visionary. I just wonder if I see them or create them? Or both? I feel like a philosopher imprisoned in the cave of my own soul, concerned about the duality of my being who is calling and cursing its creator. Why am I not perfect? Why did you create those cracks inside me? Why did I make them outside my mind? Why are you destroying beautiful things? Tell me. Who is the creator? You or me?

You see, we do have similarities. I’m creating, imperfectly, just like you. But I’m not you, and you are not me, yet you are everyone. You are everything. The cracks are proof that we exist, aren’t they? Everyone in his own world of creation. I am the creator. This is the essence of my being. Yes, now I see those cracks clearly. This is the work of my hands. My mind. My whole being. They are my essence transformed into matter. Eureka! I found the way. Yes, my way is very different than yours, of course and much more imperfect but I can be like you, my silly creator.

Do I believe in what I see? No. But I firmly believe in the truth of my being. The truth that drives me to create. To make pressure and to create cracks. Many of them. Countless. Each of them is peculiar. Each of them is a moment and memory. A reminder of the famous question – who am I?


~ Zorica ~


The Art of Joey Havlock