believe it or not. and a friend tells me it's because I'm learning valuable lessons about non-attachment and ephemerality and (wait. is that a word? I'm getting the red squiggly line.
hmm. none of the suggested words seems to fit, so ephemerality it is, red squiggly line be damned.
well all I have to say is that non-attachment and ephemerality both suck. this is not a profound sort of statement, I know. apparently the oracle left the building and don't look at me, I'm just here to sweep up the place. I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.
if I was younger and in better shape I'd probably be dancing circles around things, and traveling from town to town with the gypsy puppet circus or something. I think I'd be a fine cabaret act. or burlesque even, if the lighting was kind, and there was enough artfully draped fabric around.
sometimes I think it's scripts I'm writing, pieces of dialogues that haven't happened but then again may have, I just might not know it, or know of it obliquely, having overheard it sometime around the middle of next week.
ha. that'd be rich. finally putting that drama class to some good use. and I have to say, on a slightly related note, that yes okay. math did occasionally come in handy. but never once has the principal export of any country come up in conversation. and don't ask me where that came from, I'm pretty much done holding back. I'll just edit later, I'm writing too many books at one time to bother with sorting things out now. I surrender to the way I am and the way my mind works and every day I'll just get up again and remember not to give myself such a hard time for being someone who prefers quiet to loud (but can enjoy a party on occasion) and old-fashioned to whatever the latest version of original is on television. I haven't watched in months, the last time was a football game, and even then I could only bear part of it, and that was done for love. not that I couldn't love television, I used to watch Coronation Street and St. Elsewhere. Hill St. Blues. oh I loved that one.
but now I've lost myself. thinking of the joy of watching television, and what it was that I really enjoyed was the cleverness of the dialogue, the art of it. and the images, the way they said more than they were saying, the subtext living in the pauses and the shadows. or the characters, very painfully and beautifully flawed. and the losing myself, I suppose. now I just do it with paint, that's another surrender. I may not ever sell a single painting. I may, in fact, paint over and over the same canvas (well. I gave it away. but the next one.) and just the act of painting is enough to pull me up and I'm lost and I come back down and wonder what was all the fuss about and why couldn't I see what was so plainly and irrevocably in front of me and that fact is that nothing lasts forever and of course, there it is. the moment of decision. do I admit my big epiphany is just plain common sense, or do I dress it up and make it into the next way to divide people according to what they believe and what they don't.
it's all spin, I suppose. and I know that's an over-used word but I like it. though I'd probably have called it slant. but that's me. I'm kind of picky about words.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
I've been deleting things today.
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2 comments:
I had to chuckle at your spin comment. Somewhere I read that it's all stories, all of it. We tell them to ourselves and whoever else will listen. Just think - all those words and stories whirling about. It's a wonder any of us can think straight! I wonder what story started all this... the JW's that come to my door have one story about the Original Story - so do any number of organized religions. (See? We even make up stories about our stories!)
Don't think of it as deleting - think of it as recycling, and culling takes on a whole new aspect.
recycling, yes! just sending the image back into the chaos and scattered light it came from, or back into the stream, like it was ever mine anyway, or ever meant to be kept, sometimes it's so obvious. then there are the I want I want days, when everything is just the lack of itself, the ordinariness, the dreariness of itself, and all the magnificence of the simple thing fades and I get that glitter in my eye, I loved the way the mirror in the snow queen story made the heart grow cold and the vision get splintered and pinched and desiring, miserly. such a story, I've always loved it.
but what I meant to say before I went off on a tangent was that I've been enjoying it, the sorting, culling, recycling, winnowing - winnow is the word that comes to mind. (now I have to go see if I'm using it right.)
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