Skip navigation


6:04 AM [Got home from the train station 15 minutes ago.]

Grateful as I am for living in its luxurious comforts, the developed world is beginning to bore me. The atmosphere everywhere reeks of homogeneity that I find stifling. We drink from the same cups, wear the same clothes, drive the same cars, work the same jobs, same routines. Our kids are all raised the same way, listen to the same music, make the same demands, stray down the same wrong paths, etc., etc.

Imagine a world completely different than this. Somewhere they wear bamboo still, and drink and eat out of clay earthware; somewhere without refrigerators so they have to get fresh food daily; somewhere they congregate every evening after supper, in the outdoors, to discuss the day’s issues and concerns. It sounds like I’m describing a journey back in time but that’s not my deliberate intention. I have absolutely nothing against technology and progress – I’d be a hypocrite if I did. My problem is just with the sameness of everything around me. For the shock effect I want something I’ve never seen, and that’s anything other than the technology and modern amenities I’m so used to.

12:00 PM What do I want to do today? Where do I want to go?

8:09 PM I really feel like writing but nothing’s coming right now, and this is something that can’t be forced.

8:20 PM [Written last night]

2/23/07 7:21 PM I haven’t written in a long time. I’ve been doing a fair amount of typing, both personally and professionally, but writing – cursively as I am right now – I haven’t done in months.

I’m at a table at South St. Station in Boston. The laptop’s available but the notebook (the paper kind) was easier to reach.

Writing slows me down (in a good way). I can’t write nearly as fast as I type, so there’s no choice but to slow down.

{A woman chose to drag two metal chairs and a metal table against the hard tile floor.}

Some thoughts you just have to let go because they’re coming so fast and you’re not even done writing the last one. Some you fight to hold on to because in one split instant your brain deemed it valuable and you don’t want to lose it. Others simply come and go like background. (Not something in the background but the background itself, like flowing water or ether.)

The station is covered in hanging posters for The Glenlivet whiskey. I ate a luxurious $12 dinner from a food-stand since the company’s paying for it. I paid for my own dinner last night and took the train intsead of flying, which saved the company at least $100.

Two young black kids are going table to table trying to raise money for some charitable organization.

WHO makes our mobility possible? I could be in Boston, Chicago, or any of the thousands of cities in America, depending solely on what I want. But each of these cities requires work to run and maintain, and there’s human effort behind each living place. What if they decided to be mobile and flit around? Who would run America? Who’d make the coffee, clean the streets?

Handwriting is at least slightly attributable to the pen you use. The one I’m using has no grip so I’m writing sloppier than I otherwise would.

{This mint mocha is much too sweet.}

As the notebook sits open on the table and I sit back in the chair, maybe some eyes in the ceiling or somewhere in space are reading, trying to decipher my handwriting. (There’s not much to read anymore since I just turned a new page.)

2/24/07 8:31 PM I wish I was smarter, taller, thinner, richer, faster…

For anyone who wishes, do this: Wish until you can’t wish anymore; until you reach the point where one more wish will make you vomit.

Then, and only then, are you ready to be wholly and sincerely grateful.

8:43 PM From article on artists behaving badly on Smithsonian Magazine’s website:

But Caravaggio isn’t the only artist with a checkered past. Artists throughout history have led lives worthy of tabloid headlines. What makes the artistic temperament so susceptible to notorious and off-the-wall conduct? “Artists in general are unusual people,” says Kevin Stayton, chief curator of the Brooklyn Museum. “Great artists push boundaries, have new ways of seeing and thinking, and do things no one has done before. This energy is not going to be confined to their work. It spills over to how they live.” But the legend of an artist never outshines the art itself. Says Stanton (misspelling of name theirs, not mine), “Tons of people throughout history have tried to be artists, and lived outrageous lives. But if the art doesn’t make them immortal, their behavior certainly won’t.”

1 Comment

  1. May 4, 2011 at 3:56 pm

    Wow, superb blog layout! How long have you been blogging for? you make blogging look easy. The overall look of your site is wonderful, as well as the content!

Leave a Reply

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *

Powered By Indic IME