Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Every morning I want to steal my neighbors new york times.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

(a rambling piece, mostly fluff, self-reflection and that sort of junk, produced for public ridicule and in resignation to the fact that my desire to create an air of mystery has been rejected by all those who know me. In the words of Adam, if my life was a book it'd be a tell-all expose.)

How do we begin to break it down into logic?

I believe I am starting to master the resettling process, of picking up and moving, of finding those things I need. I am mastering being alone, even craving it at times, decidedly staying home to read and lounge. I am mastering the art of keeping going even when I am tired, of navigating the worth of a commute for hang out time. I am still struggling with procrastination, with saying no to people. I am still, sometimes, letting laziness get the best of me, or rather uncertainty of my own capabilities to commit to something I know I could do.

Does everyone at 23 feel this way? I've been telling people I have collected a bunch of Legos that don't really fit together. I need external tools, like rubber bands and paper clips, to build something out of them and its no sturdy structure at all. There is a couple of conflicts brewing here, in this spacious apartment with the swallow-you up views and unending books about books to tumble through aimlessly.

I struggle with what I consider one of the ultimate divides, if I want (or rather have to, in the sense be compelled or unsatisfied or always searching until I do "have to" kind of way)  to remind, if I want to produce or rather critique/fix/edit. In my mind I hold those who 'produce' products, as in art, music, books, culture, as sort of the ultimate success. There is a tangible (or audible or some-other sensory received 'text' and/or object) end product and in my looping brain waves it seems to me this is the ultimate contribution to shaping the world in a productive way, to create, especially independently outside of the "mainstream" culture-producing mechanisms (ie big time TV/magazines etc). The upside of producing is typically the legacy of the object existing in a tangible way, echoing for its life-span your own existence. In this way it also seems sort of narcissistic, I want to produce because I want a lasting relic and evidence of my own special-uniqueness (read the sarcasm here). However, I am surrounded by people who make things and I admire them all. And the things they make are beautiful and inspire me to make things. But at the same time I can't help but think of what Helga, from the farm, said when I first told her of StoryCorps...but why? Isn't there enough stuff in the world? Haven't we recorded enough? Don't we already have objects for every need and centuries of art to inspire endlessly?And books to read until our eye balls pop out of our heads or our kindles are full and there is literally no more room for books in our apartments unless we use them to build our beds, then soaking them up only through osmosis in our sleep? So why do I, little ol' me, feel the desire to produce. Who needs another zine? But is this argument simply a way to justify my fear of failing? If I take this stance then my choice to not write or create isn't a choice based on apprehension of my own capabilities or because it is ridiculously hard, but rather a political/ideological stance that acts as sort of an artificial shield.

The flip-side? Not self-directed research, not producing, not saying I inherently want to make this, or research this burning question that comes from within me but rather to let me help  you answer that question, fix this problem, edit or make it possible for you to shape this world or challenge the realities that arise organically from the already existing social structures that were constructed not of my own hands. Is this not as valiant as an effort? Don't I always say there needs to be people both working form inside and outside and we can build a new world and isn't just as wasteful to not salvage what is worth salvaging of the structures already around us? Isn't logical, sometimes, to use the tools already worn in to rebuild or construct or correct? If I am not producing but rather making the process happen smoother, or fixing the kinks that we so often encounter and grumble at and stumble around, isn't that in some ways equally valuable? Why do I not honor it as much as I hold production scared? Is it that american work ethic? Is it the Marx I read in college?

In simple terms: If I did what I thought was "cool",more or less, and that i admire most,  I'd be a writer and make wonderful little books, but I don't think I have this in me. If I did what I think I am "best" at and would be the most efficient use of my skills I would go into something like law (or public service...etc). Here is, splayed out, in sloppy words, the dilemma I am facing which is really no dilemma that has to be answered right here or now, but the is the dilemma that is constantly lurking in the back head preventing me from plowing full-speed ahead towards an endpoint. instead, and until then, i'll keep meandering, choosing to wonder as a sort of self-defense mechanism, because, damn, my life sounds exciting on paper--right?

(maybe there is a place for my ideal worlds to meet. maybe not)

well, here is to sunday mornings. xoxo.