Transfer #17 from Blogspot

One Blog;Several Subjects

 

There are days when I have nothing to blog about – when I sit down, rest my fingers on the keys, and absolutely not a thing comes to mind. And then there are days, like today, when I have too  much to say, when I'm practically paralyzed because so much is buzzing around inside me and I can hardly stand it.  I have an artist friend who recognizes this feeling. He and I once spoke about how overwhelmed we become when we look at the big picture – so much art to create and to experience and no possible way to do it all – how do you know what to choose? Why this week did I choose reading Laguna Heat over Lolita? Why do I have a Monet print in my office, and not a Degas? Why am I listening to the Bare Naked Ladies right now, and not Elvis Costello?

And, as with art, sometimes there's just too much going on in life, publicly and privately, to write about any one aspect well.  So I choose to write about it all, badly.

(1.) Where's Our Outrage?

I mean, the French have it. Outrage, that is. Over a million protested today over a youth labor law, managing to SHUT DOWN THE EIFFLE GODDAMN TOWER.  66 more Iraqis die in our 'war' and we, what? Yawn, and buy a latte?  GM lays off more workers on an infamous black Tuesday and we shake our heads, move on with our day.  President Bush replaces his chief of staff and we don't even notice.  I think, though, I know how this passivity occurs – sometimes, it's our only defense mechanism when the cosmos takes a great big shit.  Sure, we might be embroiled in an un'winnable', devastating war, but that doesn't make our emails any less important, it doesn't mean that we can shirk our work deadlines or our commutes or our loved ones.  We've created lives for ourselves where it's impossible to take pause and consider. 

(2.) Isn't it weird, like, how coincidences totally occur?

I've been working for years on one single essay about my dad, myself, and the Vietnam War.  All of a sudden, just when I was getting *this* close to sending it out, there is a rash of Vietnam essays and memoirs coming out from children whose fathers fought in the war.  It makes sense – after all, those children of the earlier veterans are coming of age, attempting to make sense of both their fathers' experiences and their own.  And I think that some day there will be room for my work on the subject .  But not  right now – too many people are doing it  so much better than I am.

See? See how mature I am about the above subject?

Then why the hell is everybody suddenly referencing Yeats in their work, like I did in my manuscript? Huh? Why? Is there some sort of literary collective conscience out there – one day we're all sitting at home alone, pondering, and think, stroking our chins, hmmm. Yeats. Yes. Sailing to Byzantium and the Lake Isle of Innisfree. Yes.  That's what I'll write about next. I mean, what the hell, people? Is my dad right? Are there really no original ideas out there? What a depressing thought.

(3.) What the hell are they putting in our food?

Another person I know has been diagnosed with celiac's disease, a disease that causes long-term intestinal damage if the person doesn't go on a strict gluten-free diet.  I know several people with this disease, including (possibly) my brother.  I know people with corn, wheat, dairy and casein allergies.  Except for dairy, these allergies often spring from an overexposure to said product because they are used in so many foods – we no longer eat natural, healthy foods. As we all know. And blah blah blah blah.  But heed my warning: do not, as I did, drink soy milk and eat soy patties and consume soy ice cream and think you are in any way helping your body.  Unless five years down the road you want to feel like you've been hit by a mack truck, have hideous panic attacks, develop gross rashes, and etcetera.  This food allergy, my God.  I want to say it's the worst, but it's not. But it can be pretty awful.

(4.) Sometimes I don't think I have what it takes to be a writer.  I'm not sure I have the stamina for it – the ability to write and revise and write and revise and write and revise and, well, you get the idea. It's exhausting.  And hard.  And I wish sometimes I wanted to be something, anything else.  But I don't.

Well, that's it from my little corner of the world.  It's Tuesday, and today, the world feels too much with me.  I hope the rest of you are well.  Take care, and be safe.

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