My father is quite the profound artist. I mean really. When I was much younger, I must say I had quite a skewed, uneducatedly biased opinion about art. Because of his ubiquitous talent and his absolute adroitness, I could never appreciate things like a peaceful color field painting, or a wildly alive Pollock masterpiece, or even the simplest of the cubisms. All that’s changed now, since I’ve opened my little eyeballs to the art world. But this man is incredible and has inspired me in some many different wonderful ways. He’s a nut, a goofball, and an aesthetic genius. He paints with such serenity, such ease. It’s like a meditation, a quiet lullaby to watch him paint, no matter how teeming with energy the painting may be. Unlike many artists, he doesn’t paint because of an urgency, a thrill, an insatiable desire to do so. He just likes it. Our house has become our own personal gallery. Our shrine to his holy master Bob Johnson. I don’t know how we could ever dismantle it, if it ever came to that. This man is quite the paragon if you ask me. Now he just needs to get the art out of the house and into a gallery, into a book, onto a website, anything. So here is my ode to my father, his first publication, a little bit of fame…. HERE YA GO DAD! YOU’RE FAMOUS!!!!
circa 8th or 9th grade.
I am rain dancing in a $400 gown that I found with the tags still on it in my own closet at the end of summer. I am not rain dancing because I wanted the rain to stop, or because I wanted it to rain harder; I am rain dancing simply because there was rain, and therefore, it must be danced in. Rain dancing for the mere pleasure of it. Such was the simple, absolute, unquestioning rationale of my younger self.
I was happier then, I think.
Oh, to succumb to those simple happy pleasures, and find such complete, serene gratification in them….
(I kept the original title that WordPress assigned to this first post because I just wanted to note how nauseatingly, pathetically cheerful it is. The poor, pitiful souls at WordPress Inc, must really hate themselves.)
Another bleak evening upon which I rise up like the undead from my green-sheeted multi-blanketed down-pillowed grave. Why have I always viewed sleep as such a chore? An interference, if you will. Yeah, yeah, okay so my life really isn’t so teaming and wrought with vital (or even frivolous) activity to the point that catching a few Z’s would violently throw everything out of line, but really. It always takes me so long to fall asleep, that it is really just time away from all the funs things in life, all the theoretical things I could be doing. The hardest part is, upon getting into bed, keeping myself from pondering all of life’s deep mysteries that potentially, and often indefinitely, prevent me from falling asleep. Thus, my night time mantra has become this: “The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner you wake up.” And I repeat this to myself over and over and over…. and holy shit, does it get wearisome. Yet I don’t fall asleep. I used to freestyle to myself to fall asleep but that is an absolutely impractical method, as it a) it is really not relaxing at all and b) requires WAY too much brain power to be an effective shut-down technique. Sometimes I drink a glass of warm milk with a little honey in it but that doesn’t do much, other than make me want more milke/less suger. Everyonce in a while, I will eat an obscene amount of food, dine myself into oblivion til there’s nothing that can be done except climb (literallly) into bed, lay still uttering hollow complaints of lousy self-indulgence, and thus inducing sleep. But my poor belly can’t handle that every night. My scale and my wallet won’t tolerate it either. Then there’s the good ol holistic timed-tried-and-true realm of sleeping pills. Oh yum. For those of you who aren’t aware, sleeping pills suck. I mean they’re awesome for when I want to get like 10 hours of dreamless, mind-numbed, uninterrupted anesthetic sleep, and then to be exhausted and semiconscious for like 5 hours after waking up. But generally, I don’t have time for that shit. And SO! I sleep on the weekends. It’s fabulous. I mean, I do love sleep. When sleep occurs easily, naturally, and completely (as it does on Friday night, Saturday night, and most of Sunday), then it is a thing to be loved, a thing to be revered. All other sleep time is a BIG NUISANCE!!!!!
Besides. I have much better things to do.