I didn’t wake up one day as a creator—I assembled into one. Not through stability, but through survival. Chasing sparks across time and form, I found not one niche, but a fractured chorus of voices inside me that all demanded expression.
This piece—Chaos origin—was the genesis. I sat down to make chaos tangible. Just color—no form, no goal. My mind couldn’t hold a full picture, but I could hold the pen. Somewhere in the layers, a vision emerged: two dragons atop rooftops in a moment of stillness before battle. That was the first signal. That was ignition.
I work with Sharpies, felt tips, fine liners, ballpoints—tools chosen not just for color, but for distinction. Even a hue-shift between brands changes the message. I’ve grown to coin a phrase that explains my flow: “I let the mind go and the pen flow.”
What I create isn’t quite poetry. It’s Wordsmithing: rhyming words of wisdom, shaped from lived truth, forged in spiritual fire, and hammered out in rhythm. These aren’t just verses. They’re tools for processing, blueprints of thought, and functional incantations.
I travel with my work—art never stays home. I carry it and my bag of colors wherever I go. I use CNC and digital tools when I can, AI when I must, but art is always my first interface. Each mark, each stroke is a conduit for energies absorbed from the world around me, pushed through my body, and focused into the ink.
My process is intentionally unstructured—a method in disarray. “Berry Chaotic,” by name and nature. But from that entropy, I’ve built a scaffold for others to trace. What looks spontaneous is in truth a ritualized improvisation, shaped by instinct, fire, and experience.
What I want isn’t for people to “lose their minds”— I want them to let their controlling consciousness wander, searching for order in the chaos of my work. Disorientation may follow, but it’s not the point—it’s a side effect when the art cuts deep. And when that happens, I am there—speaking, observing, offering words to help reframe what they find.
This isn’t just art—it’s shamanic work, filtered through ink and vibration.
And while I didn’t have a traditional mentor, I wasn’t without guidance. My shamanic awareness began through a chance discovery of The Art of Dreaming by Carlos Castaneda, during a personal quest for lucid dreaming. From there, I dove into early psychological theory—studying the split and synergy between Freud and Jung. Freud’s work on dreaming and introspection fused with Jung’s archetypes and symbolism, forming the spine of my internal mythos.
Meditation and brain entrainment became tools in this process—through binaural beats I found pathways into quieting my mind. I was driven by one goal: to silence the storm of thoughts inside me. That journey culminated in a hero’s dose of LSA—taken not to escape, but to rebuild.
And through that experience—through this accidental initiation, informed by science, spirit, and will—I entered the fire.
The result was a full spiritual reconfiguration. I call it spiritual alchemy, and it was real. I didn’t plan it perfectly. My path derailed, but still delivered me to exactly where I was meant to arrive. A place of clarity through collapse. A state of consciousness I haven’t seen replicated in anyone else—not at my age, not done alone, not done this way.
The Inner Landscape I live with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADD/ADHD), manic-depressive episodes, mild depression, and Complex PTSD. I also recognize in myself—through reflection and shared experience—signs of Oppositional Defiant Disorder and Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria. Two of my children—from different mothers—have been diagnosed with autism. And I am the common denominator.
By observation, pattern, and resonance—I too am neurodivergent.
But for much of my life, I didn’t know that. That lack of awareness hurt me—deeply. I had no language for my patterns. I misread my reactions. I alienated others, and myself, through behavior I didn’t understand.
Particularly with Oppositional Defiant Disorder—I often felt an unshakable compulsion to do the opposite of what I was told. Even when I knew it would harm me. I could feel how unproductive it was. But I didn’t understand why the urge burned so fiercely. That disconnect—between intent and action—fractured relationships, stifled growth, and fed cycles of shame.
Knowing these labels now isn’t about being boxed in. It’s about having a compass. I don’t wear these names as chains. I wear them as proof—that understanding transforms everything. I am a product of these conditions, yes. But I am also proof that transmutation is possible.
The Mission and the Message I’m building more than a platform—I’m building a hub: A living archive of my creativity, a resource well, a spiritual staging ground for others like me. A place where art, Wordsmithing, sound, tools, and healing converge.
The Chaotic Collective is for the lost—those unsure of their mind, their meaning, their mission. It’s for those who don’t fit systems, who feel too much, and who need new blueprints. I’m not here to save anyone—I’m here to light the map I made for myself, in case others are wandering the same terrain.
As for my message in a bottle— It’s not done. Because I’m not finished. And death still frightens me. The idea that the universe might swallow all this someday—that my signal could fade into entropy—keeps me moving.
But I believe that spiritual immortality is possible through action and alignment. So I sculpt my echoes carefully—edges tapered with intention, bordered by the structure I’ve created. And when those echoes bounce, they catch, and assemble into a shell where my spirit can reside long after the body ends.
This is my legacy of function through fire. This is Wordsmithing in motion, art as survival, creation as compass.
And you’re invited to tune in.
