I feel like I'm dying everyday. That's the life I know.
Force of Evil
Life isn't a movie.
Its messier than that. Slops over the edges, gets episodic and some mysteries never get answered.
I still like movies best when they have a happy ending.
This week has started with exhaustion staring at me. Call from my Doc friend. It was to brace me. Stand firm for Monday and don't assume anything. There's more tests still not in.
Not damning but not reassuring either.
I hated the movie “Love Story” but I admired the end. I like the way that people die in movies. Disease doesn't ravage them much, and often , disease seems to free their spirits so they become more and more beautiful as death takes its stranglehold.
I'm from Southern Cal. We don't mind dying so long as we look good doing it.
I'm not dying anymore than anyone else is, or I'm dying just as much as everyone else is.
Life is harsh when it can relate to Bob Dylan lyrics: “He not busy being born is busy dying.”
Why not, “He not busy being alive is busy dying”? Not dramatic enough. That's why I don't have 32 platinum records.
As Usual I think about people. I think about art. I like paintings that move me. I like sculpture that startles me.
I like little black puppy dogs who are entertained by bugs and lizards.
I don't know. I laughed today. People came and talked to me about stuff that had nothing to do with their business. I listened to theories and notions. I like dreams the best and stories that sometimes have a point and stories that are sometimes just a reflection of memories that sooth and please the teller.
What am I rambling about?
I don't know either.
I'm just living and most times living doesn't have a point.
No more a point than dying anyway.
And that is the point. Life has the meaning we give it.
Its a meaning we decide and its no ones business to interpret that meaning.
That's not right. You can't deny any one meaning.
You can say that the judgement that people seem determined to weigh in with is nonsense.
Cocteau thought that the last circle of hell was the home of those who were forced to judge the dead.
There is no greater hell than to judge others.
I buy that.
Which is why I'm always surprised to see so many people doing it. Harshly or sweetly. To me, judgment always seems the same.