We still don't have internet at our apartment. It's supposed to be fixed Friday, I sure hope it is. I'm having a kind of hard time. Kind of a productive time, though, too. Last night when I got home from work I had a nice long phone conversation with my original San Francisco homegirl Cotton, which was great. I used to talk on the phone (to him) all the time. It was so good to reconnect and to check in with someone who you get and who gets you. I spent a lot of time writing last night after I got off the phone.
I keep switching between a handful of things I am working on, these days. Which I guess is okay. it's better than not working on anything. I mean, a bunch of half-baked ideas are better than no ideas at all.
It's really hard to know what you want and what you want to do. As soon as you think you know, it changes.
Speaking of changes and things you want and want to do: JEFFERY SELF has a new website blog TV show project avatar baby love child: SELF-OBSESSED. Expect big things, America. Jeffery Self is adorable and I love and miss him very much. I am glad, though, for this site new portal into his brain.
I do wish I didn't have to watch this at a coffeehouse, but que sera sera. Someday everybody on Earth is going to die, and when we get to Heaven if you're the only person that didn't bother to watch Jeffery's videos, then all the other angels are going to think you're really fucking lame. Especially me. This angel, right here.
hey speaking of GETTING INTO HEAVEN: check out this video as well of Bernadette Peters, made by our lovely little sister Miss Baby Girl Cole Escola. She's a (fucking) star so you should pay her:
Another dear heart buddy, Ben Rimalower wrote a really rad blog post for the Huffington Post about Whitney Houston's passing: "I can no longer hope that she makes it, that she's OK. There are no more comebacks to root for. Now, there is just her music. It's ours now." You can see the rest of the piece HERE.
Whitney and someone who's music you liked passing away is an opportune time to look at things you value in your life. I know some people who are dead, and I miss them very much. I'm really freaked out by a lot of things, but I am not freaked out of dead people. Maybe I'm more freaked out by the way people who are alive try to make the dead into something else? Is that okay to say? I think it's really easy to speak for the dead, because they can't speak for themselves.
It's sort of hard and also easy. I guess, just like anything else in life. Yeah, no, life is just like it's opposite: death. I sometimes feel really shitty for no reason. Like, things bother me that have nothing to do with me. I'll convince myself that someone else has something which I want. This is a delusion. This isn't real. It's hard to, like, continually train yourself to realize this, to learn this over and over and over again. Maybe I should say it's hard to realize it, it's hard to get into the pain and joy of this realization. Like: you're not so special. This is a theme I was discussing a lot with Cotton last night: you don't have to be so special. It sounds like a read, and it maybe is, but a loving read.
You're not special. You do not have this special unique voice/gift that only you have that makes you you and must be shared with the world. This myth that only you matter, that you have some uniqueness, this sounds pretty and in fact could encourage a certain type of personality for a bit. But this myth of uniqueness inevitably sets you up for disappointment. Would a more radical, more interesting, cooler, more fun and nicer strategy be to, say, connect with other people? Rather than simply find the beauty in your own individuality, why not find a way to connect with one or infinity other people? I guess I am just wrestling with the fact that my boredom sometimes confirms these hunches I have about the world and culture. It might be a little bit morbid. We might be corpses. We're already in Hell. This might be it, I mean. So why bother striving and rewarding something as abstract as ambition. Why wait?
And I am just sitting up here, basking in sunlight, playing my harp.