Just got my tax returns, so I've been spending money a tad more freely in the past several days. This mostly applies to food. Instinctually, to me, that makes sense - to spend "surplus" money on good food, good experiences in general. That drive receives positive reinforcement from almost everything I'm reading these days... no past, no future, and a strong affirmation of the present. This very moment. Succinctly put in a conversation had last night: our conceptions about the past and future serve, from both ends, to crunch our experience of the present.
Okay. But then there is the push in the other direction, to put that meagre sum of surplus towards things that... last. I'm talking about savings both practical (for the back surgery I'll need to get when I'm 80 - or younger - or never) and pleasureful (like a trip some time in the near future), as well as the immediate expense of something like a new pair of sneakers. These are each valid repositories in their own ways. Then, to further play devil's advocate: I went to Punjabi Dhaba for dinner before class last night, and had an excellent dish (though I can't remember it's name) and a delightful mango lassi. I will remember that meal as a wonderful experience, and will be able to point it out to anyone else as we walk through Inman Square, or suggest the restaurant to anyone else who is anywhere near Inman for whatever reason. And here I am writing it out for you now. But really, what's the point? It's in the past. That wonderful meal is gone forever... so why do I bother to talk about it, or even remember it at all?
Amidst these conflicting thoughts, today I ordered myself an eggplant parm sub. I spent the extra dollar to get one from a "very premium place," as Alex would say in Everything is Illuminated. My choice of take-out sent me on a walk through the cemetery. I take that walk quite a bit, often for pleasure, but today the headstones caught my eye in a whole new way. I usually look at the names, but today I saw the dates, particularly the lifespans of those who died pre-1930 or so.
1837-1850
1890-1925
1860-1860
1884-1912
That last one lived to be 28. My current age. The thoughts I started this entry with had been dancing around in my mind, until I saw these dates. The concretization of these lifespans gave me no specific insight to clarify my previous thoughts, but it did give me a feeling. Rattle the bones... clear the mind.
Without further elucidation, the extra dollar spent was worth it. And had I not had that eggplant sub at all, these words I've just written may have been totally different.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Up to the Day news
Ah, to finish up the day with King Cobra, Slim Jims, and the Marquis de Sade (Justine)... that is the life.
In the midst of this realization the other night, I thought to post my feelings on Facebook and Twitter. But that in and of itself was a sort of WTF moment; why bother? (Especially on Twitter, where I have like eight followers, half of whom are personal friends (and on Facebook), the other half I've never met.)
I have nothing remotely profound or provocative to say here today. I'm taking a drawing class, am really enjoying it, and have been trying to draw every day - portraits, tsunamis, little Buddhas, cow skulls.... I'm also taking a class on dreamachines - a non-transmutable source of hallucinogenic stimulation - and have much reading to do. (Both of these courses, by the way, are through Corvid College, which I am absolutely loving.) So the time I have to devote to writing ends up falling into three categories: that which I get paid for (necessary), that which I could conceivably get paid for (like contests or essays I hope to get published), and that spent on film "scripts".* The blog suffers... at least quantitatively. Then again, if I had something really profound to say, I would probably get it up here anyway.
And that is that.
* It's weird to actually look at the word "scripts" in conjunction with what I'm working on now, hence the quotes. I don't know what to call them, but they aren't really scripts. They will eventually become films, hopefully.
In the midst of this realization the other night, I thought to post my feelings on Facebook and Twitter. But that in and of itself was a sort of WTF moment; why bother? (Especially on Twitter, where I have like eight followers, half of whom are personal friends (and on Facebook), the other half I've never met.)
I have nothing remotely profound or provocative to say here today. I'm taking a drawing class, am really enjoying it, and have been trying to draw every day - portraits, tsunamis, little Buddhas, cow skulls.... I'm also taking a class on dreamachines - a non-transmutable source of hallucinogenic stimulation - and have much reading to do. (Both of these courses, by the way, are through Corvid College, which I am absolutely loving.) So the time I have to devote to writing ends up falling into three categories: that which I get paid for (necessary), that which I could conceivably get paid for (like contests or essays I hope to get published), and that spent on film "scripts".* The blog suffers... at least quantitatively. Then again, if I had something really profound to say, I would probably get it up here anyway.
And that is that.
* It's weird to actually look at the word "scripts" in conjunction with what I'm working on now, hence the quotes. I don't know what to call them, but they aren't really scripts. They will eventually become films, hopefully.
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