7/29/13

Only the Future

My meeting last night with Molly about our upcoming show in Ptown was so much fun. It definitely made my day. I love her. I guess I feel a little bit better. In some ways. I finished reading this Anaïs Nin book last night, The Novel of the Future. It had taken me forever to finish. It's a lot about creativity, fiction, psychoanalysis, and postmodernism. She really hates Burroughs and Warhol, and even though I like them, I appreciate the reasons she hates them. I love Nin, obviously. But she's kind of a rich kid. Like, she deplores postmodernists for reproducing garbage (I'm paraphrasing) instead of imagining a more beautiful world. And, to me, it's like, if you grow up in garbage, maybe you think that's beautiful, you know? What beauty is is often dictated by capitalist and fairly cruel imaginations and forces. But I see her point about being disgusted by the idea that now we are to take billboards and hang them on our walls as art. There's a kind of glib swagger in being able to bear more and more ugliness, a kind of bragging rights of saying "Well I like that advertisement on a wall. I don't see the difference between that and art." I think that's maybe an unhealthy way to make that point.



Had strange and intense dreams about being in a restaurant. The joy of getting to cook food and sort of perform, and the paralyzing fear of a group of hungry people to feed. I think it's because I was talking with Paps over the weekend about some delicious thing she cooked (kale quesadillas?) and she thought "Someday, when i open my restaurant..." and I've also been watching a lot of "Orange is the new Black" which is kind of a lot about cooking. Such a bummer that Kate Mulgrew is so opposed to abortion. I feel like I didn't sleep very well last night. I had that kind of fucked up panic attack which only happens during insomnia nights, when the dread of not getting enough sleep keeps me awake. I'm too busy worrying about the fact that I'm not sleeping to sleep. But I guess I passed out at a certain point. I feel sort of fucked up and sick.



On the train up from 14th street this morning, I took the A and it ran next to the E. Pulling into 34th street, I noticed how the trains ran alongside each other and seemed to slow down and speed up. it's vaguely autistic, but something about the movement was really pretty to me. Maybe I hadn't woken up yet. Not fully.



My office is across the street from a methadone clinic and a lot of homeless people and people on drugs hang out on the corner. This morning there was a crowd of folks, and a woman who looked like she had been living on the street for a while was yelling to her friend as I walked by: "I'm so happy. I am so happy that I'm here, that I'm alive, that I have my life." I felt like such a chump.



I was sort of facebook stalking this girl I went to college with and really envying her. She lives in a non-New York City, has what seems like a stable job and boyfriend. Maybe she's married. She has a car and an apartment and insurance and seems happy. She visits friends on long weekends. She was so sweet. I saw something she wrote recently about taking an older family member to the emergency room (everyone's fine!) but she wrote so eloquently about handling her business. It's hard to describe, but I wish I was so together. I wish I was so smart and together and creative that I didn't fall apart when I have an afternoon to myself. I'm so envious of people who are able to more or less just get on with their lives. That must be so nice. To not worry. To be stable. I used to think she was sort of square when we went to college together, because she is mostly (I think?) heterosexual, and probably comes from a wealthier family than I do. But I think it's ok to be square. I think it's ok to be happy, to be not freaked out. I think I am fraying my nerves lately, and I am worried about doing permanent damage to them.

Now that I think about it, is there a kind of damage, decay or injury which is not permanent? We heal, we recover, but we can never go back in time.

Time-travel exists already. I feel entirely confident saying this. It's just that the catch with time-travel, as we currently have it, is that it only goes in one direction: to the future.



I have a fun meeting tonight. Everything feels like it needs to be answered or understood right away, and the myriad of horoscopes I check every week all tell me more or less the same thing these days, which is that it doesn't need to happen this week. That I need to chill out. That I need to not go to the future, just yet. If patience is a virtue, is impatience a vice? Is anxiety like a drug? I suppose so, since so many drugs provoke anxiety.



I've been thinking a lot about bossa nova and tropicalia recently. I love this song so much. It sounds so sweet and nice, and it is, mostly. It's about springtime. But it's also really dark. You can see what the song is about here.



Thinking about the Ancient Greek idea of Cthonos. That the Earth is a physical reality and a metaphorical spirit. It is at once the symbol and material of fertility, the source of life, but it is also the physical proof of death, the flowerbed and the graveyard.

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