02 June 2016

Daydreaming in same-old fashion

Dear diary,

I should teach volleyball. I haven’t played volleyball in years—like more than a decade—but I should see if I could wing it as a teacher. I’m just interested, at the moment, in scamming. I say this half-kiddingly. What would it take to be a con artist, a confidence man?

If you paint a picture nowadays, how do you get someone to look at it? I ask this out of simple curiosity. It’s sometimes informative to think about other people’s problems. So, if I were a painter, what would I do? Would I take a photo of my painting and post it on my social network of choice? I imagine that, if I were to do this, certain folks would care about my picture. But how many, and for how long?

Also, if I were a movie director, would I be able to get my next film financed? As I understand it, you can’t just summon a film to come to life ex nihilo, without any moolah, the way that you can write plain text out of nowhere, for only the cost of the pencil and paper, which is twenty-seven pennies—because films require FUNDING…

Most things are outdated. Plays are outdated because of movies. Movies are outdated because of television. Television is outdated because of internet. Internet is outdated because of war profiteering. Pretty soon God will be outdated, because there will be no users left to subscribe…

But there will always be users. Even if they look different in days to come. Even if they appear as radioactive insects.

A neon green bug was pacing back and forth on my fingertip today, and going to and fro upon it, while I was riding in the car, on the way to the park (my sweetheart and I drove to the park in our motorcar, because our bikes were both in the shop, because we both rode over glass on Sunday morning); and I spoke to this fresh little bug, and said as follows: You, my friend, are going to survive the apocalypse.

The way that one listens to a record is different than the way that one listens to a cassette; and the way that one listens to a cassette is different from the way that one listens to the radio. And now we have live bands that play rock ’n’ roll tunes at weddings ’n’ funerals. Plus, at a certain date, compact discs will be invented. Silver plastic, easily ruined. Laser technology. I hope that I don’t sound like a sad barbarian. I’m not sad at all. I’m only jaded.

Plus one can always sing aloud with one’s natural voice: I mean, with one’s tongue, throat, lungs, divine breath of life…

And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils… and man became a living soul. (Genesis 2:7)

We saw a woman walking on the footpath today. Technically I could call her a passerby because she passed us by (again, by “we” and “us,” I mean my sweetheart and me). She didn’t notice our presence until we were one single step away from her: for she was looking at her phone, her electronic device. Does your dimension have these “phones,” these “devices” made to facilitate “communication”?—if not, press the giant red button on your control panel and I’ll explain the reference in the aftermath…

I’m finding it harder, as time spills evenly onward, to avoid sounding frustrated. The truth is that I AM frustrated. But I want to love the new technology. So let’s say that I love it. Long live touchscreens and all the… stuff… that they offer. Here, I’ll pour some wine on you.

Now I just remembered two fine moments that happened during our afternoon walk. They afforded me the same rejuvenation that I get from certain artworks of the 1920s. I’ll place these memories in a postscript:

P.S. (two surreal blessings witnessed on our daily walk)

First, we saw a red fawn prance slowly and gracefully across the city street. Admittedly I was worried for its safety, and I remain so to this moment, but the sight seemed like a gift from Someplace Perfect.

And the other epiphany occurred while we were walking through the woods near Thomas Lake. As far as our eyes could see, there was thick, robust, wild, healthy, dark-green verdure surrounding us: for we had chosen a “road not taken.” Then, out of nowhere, we heard a sound like the opening of a door. Why would a door exist in the middle of the forest? I turned to my sweetheart—we locked eyes, and I gestured, “Did you hear that?” She nodded, “Yes!” …We never figured out what caused this noise.

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