I don’t like art. I just want to tell how I feel. Seems like there is a side of art where one does anything but tell the truth. Art is just technique when it isn’t art. Just technique. It looks good but stops there. Seems like art can deny the importance of life and death. Couch art. Pretty pictures. Art unfortunately occurs despite someone not having enough food to eat or having a life without love. I feel like running as fast as I can from artists, especially those with talent. Some think of talent as a gift. Because I don’t have any, I think of it as a handicap. Imagine having 1000 voices. How do you know how to talk? Which voice would you use?
I don’t like recipes either. They neither work, nor are they fun to follow. And they always suggest garlic, which I consider to be food’s worse enemy. Food is delicious. Why garlicize it to make it taste like garlic. That makes no sense. I shouldn’t have said that recipes don’t work. They work on TV, but not when I try to follow them. And they always seem to scan your kitchen and ask for ingredients that you don’t have. They must be sadistic at heart.
One more thing I don’t like is instructions. Usually on the web they are outdated, so they lead you down a path that drops you off the edge of a cliff. Every once in a while, like with an Ikea puzzle, they make sense. But usually it is more fun to mess up and learn what not to do.
I guess I should like something or someone might think of me as a sourpuss. Well I like being loss. I like it when things are broken. I like when there are challenges. I like when there is the expression of love or pain. I thought I’d like it when I’d look at the NYTimes and Trump was not on the front page. But now I don’t know. It is kind of boring when you don’t get to read about the meanderings of a crazed man. Seems like I could cancel my subscription and all would be well. I’m not sure how much I like that.
I wanted to go to a monastery. I though there my life would be simpler and I could focus on what’s important. And then it happened. This little bug spread its wings and made too many people sick and made too many people dead and so I stayed home. I had my food delivered and barely walked out my front door. I would walk around my house in circles until I had reached 4000 steps. It was the best of times and it was the worse of times. Some people suffered terribly, and for some, their lives were saved as families became closer and were able to give nourishment that was so sorely needed. I wish, when it is over, we can hold on to some of the good stuff… people connected with their immediate family, and the earth getting a respite from our earlier insane life.
(2 days later) I've been thinking more about "trusting the universe" and it keeps coming back to karma. Whatever we do volitionally creates karma. We can depend on the universe in that regard. My sister and I would drink my parent's scotch, and then add water so the level wouldn't change. We got away with it for awhile until we were busted. I think a lot of people think like that. They drink and drive and didn't have an accident so they think they are home free. But the universe is dependable in the way that we make a difference even when we fail, and that nothing goes by unacknowledged. We can trust the universe in that regard.
