Friday, April 04, 2014

hypothetically speaking

1 Say you’re making a playlist, and the first song you choose is The Beatles, “I’ve Just Seen a Face.” What do you choose to follow that? Can anything follow that?

 2 Say that you know what will make you smarter, and wittier, and you actively reject that in favor of getting your hands dirty, as they say. What will happen?

 3 Say you want something and you don’t do anything about it. Perhaps you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of not knowing how to do it, or, you really don’t know how to do it. What then?

 4 Say you actually go up to a person you barely know, look them in the eye, and say, “I want to get to know you.” Without any of the usual fumbling you-seem-like-a-cool-persons or hey-that-thing-we-talked-about-once-let’s-talk-about-it-more. If you just say something that plainly, that honestly. What follows, what will happen, what then?

Saturday, March 29, 2014

I used to be melancholy.
It was very pretty.
Hair up, tangled curly but elegant, like a Jane Austen heroine waking up from a fitful romantic sleep somewhere in the English countryside.
I wore thin t-shirts when I was feeling thin and baggy t-shirts when I was not. The best feeling was to wear a baggy t-shirt while feeling thin but this hardly ever occurred to me, to do something because it might feel good.
I did not paint my nails because the people I knew who painted their nails were happy and also satisfied with worldly things. I was neither, I'd determined.
I wanted an angular face, I wanted to know how to put on makeup. I thought, there are so many basic things, and nobody took the time to explain them to me.
I had a lot of ideas about a lot of things.
(I still do.)
(I expect this is universal.)
Things that haven't changed: I still take nearly everything too seriously.
I'm getting better.
I laugh more. I move more.
Things begin to flow.
It's hard work, and good work: to live a creative life, and to meanwhile love it.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

the feeling of a thing is not the same as the thing itself

1. I'm writing something about dreams, but fake dreams. If I write something everyday, for a week and a day, I'll have something. I pretend I'm writing it for myself, but secretly I know I'm not.

2. In the laundromat, a lot of waiting happens. People are on phones, or watching the televisions, which alternate between daytime talk shows or Spanish soaps. There are arcade games you'll never see anyone use. Sometimes people hold books. Sometimes I am one of those. Clothes tumble, and churn; we live in a modern world where machines wash and dry things automatically and we don't stop to question this, or thank the proprietress. If the laundromats all shut down, then what would I do? Improvise?

3. The facts were simple: to stand in the middle of a road and look into the camera. "Relax," he kept saying. "I am not even here. When you are looking into the camera you are actually looking as far as the eye can travel, all the way to the horizon." I tried to envision that. I chanted things to myself. I was surprised by my own stiffness, my own self consci
ousness. I thought I was different, I thought to myself.

4. When you love someone you want to do anything for their happiness, unless it directly contradicts your own happiness. Therein lies the conflict, or the feeling of it. Nothing is actually happening. I could convince myself of something, but that wouldn't make it true.

5. I will wait, and things will happen. Someone will call. Two work schedules will collide, or not. I will watch the show again and again. The laundry will finish and need to be folded. Someone will ask me something, I will go out into the loud hot sun and put myself and other things into a vehicle, and I will drive away.