Soapbox Artist: Sean Alexander

Out on the Disconnect

written by Sean Alexander

You can’t find yourself where you are. It is for this reason that the restless spirits have trouble staying and eventually drift. I have known these people and I am one of them. We are always looking at pictures of the outside, usually the far outside, wondering when we will climb that mountain, walk down that street, herd those sheep, witness that depravity, and, most importantly, learn how to be new in the process. Out there, wherever the pictures lead, we are more perfect. Our bodies, minds, and souls are moving together without contradiction. Things are easier because we love what we are doing to the extent of forgotten hardship. We are better, much better, and happiness is a non-issue. We are resting our feet on some perfect table. 

Out Here:

The people are mostly regular. They are construction workers and their wives and kids. They are the sighing and unemployed mocha drinkers. Conversation sticks to matters of fact. “Pretty today?” “Yep, might move some wood.” “You got the time?” “Little past four.” “How’s business?” “It’s been steady.” “Just picking up some soda for later.” “Where’d you get that tattoo?”  “My horses are going to love these.” 

As an outsider, I can’t help but be entertained by these people.

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*

The road out here is long and dark, becoming nearly pitch black after Key Center. I used to be scared. I had heard the stories: the cult on Power Line road that nailed coyotes to the trees crucifixion-style, the guys who stomped a man’s head into the curb in front of the Chevron near Lake Kathryn, the ones who amused themselves by throwing concrete blocks at cows and horses, the meth heads that ambushed a friend’s car on Tiedman road…the list goes on.

*

If I am killed out here, all that I ask is that my killer’s skin is decent, fingernails trimmed and teeth acceptable.

 *

There is this one guy who comes to the coffee stand I work at in Key Center. He is a cook at a restaurant on the hill. I think he’s around my age. He’s so fucked up. What are left of his teeth are little blue-black stumps with sharp bits here and there. One of his bottom front teeth has a scallop shaped cut out of it right above the gums. I know that tooth won’t be in there much longer. I picture him cautiously biting into an apple. His hair is as gray as an old man’s. I have trouble looking him in the face when taking his order. It’s weird, but behind all the damage he has a really nice face. I might even say that he is good looking, but then he opens his mouth to talk. My stomach turns and I get that pre-cry feeling in my forehead and cheeks. There is something tragic about being on this planet with this guy and his teeth.

*

Farther Out Here:

There used to be this old totem pole hiding in the salal off the side of the road, past the town of Home. It was just lying in there with its carved beak and half a wing sticking out. It could have been blown over in a windstorm, but the owners clearly didn’t care about what they had. A friend and I discussed the logistics of stealing it a few times, but apparently we weren’t the only ones because it disappeared a couple of months after appearing. I remember being disappointed about it. I was supposed to be the archaeologist. I was going to sand it down and give it a new paint job with dark blues, creams and reds. It was going to be beautiful

*

My body is getting worse. I am gaining weight. My teeth are wearing still and I have this recurring wrist and hand pain. My feet have been going numb and my knees hurt. I wheeze and have nightmares. My girlfriend worries about me. I can see it in her face sometimes.

For a while I was having trouble getting out of bed. I would just look out the window at the yard for about an hour after waking up. I wasn’t thinking about much during that time. Just looking until I was too disgusted with myself to lie there any longer.

TV has found its way back. I hadn’t lived with one for years. I don’t watch much, but what I do watch is really stupid. Mostly sports and forensics. I have this habit of watching SportsCenter during my midday break from the studio. I got really into football this year. At night, I sometimes watch forensic show marathons like some total weirdo freak. I am planning to cut my TV consumption down to one hour a week after the Superbowl.

I am supposed to be connecting to something out here but am having trouble. It’s just a well-cared-for stack of paper on a ping-pong table inside a barn. So much time and toil. This drawing has fifty hours in it but is still hollow. That one only has twenty, but the faces are poorly done. Oh and that one…I don’t even want to start talking about that one.

*********

Restless is what you are. Another indefinable. The pictures are not accurate descriptions and you get what you deserve for following them as such. To seek depravity is to seek pain and if you would just look inward you could find that. Your mind, body, and soul have been moving together the whole time and will always. You do not need to be any better than you are and happiness should be a non-issue. To be new, is to no longer be.

There exists no finer table than a stump.

Sean Alexander lives on his mom’s rental farm in Longbranch, Washington. From 2006 to 2008 he co-owned a small, progressive art space in Tacoma called The Helm. His hobbies and creative ventures include making pictures, writing songs, watching football, playing scrabble, making coffee, drinking juice and spending time with his girlfriend. His most recent exhibition took place at Public Space One in Iowa City. He is currently brainstorming for future projects and enjoying spending time with good people again. View some of his artwork on his unfinished Web site at seanalexander.net.