this is the fourth attempt. three times completed blogs have disappeared. now i feel like crying. it could be the wine. i've taken to drinking a glass in evening. if the french live longer...
but maybe it's merely an excuse to forget, a return to childhood, when someone else was paying the bills. (the true source of all addiction). maybe we never really grow up, even if we become responsible adults, sire offspring, dedicate ourselves to the good.
personally, i feel at five years old we were doing what we wanted to do: building mythical cities, acting out worldly dramas, reading books with beautiful illustrations. if we could only recover that impulse and put it action. maybe we would find god in the closet and invent fire.
truly, i avoid longing and popular songs. timothy leary, as he was fading away, said, 'senility is underrated.' and the ancient chinese believed you were blessed if you had a bad memory.
it makes sense. forgetting hurt, you can love again. forgetting failure, you can act graciously in the present. at the same time, when i listen to the recording of my mother recounting my childhood, i feel relieved. yes, i've lived and had a life. or i feel i've been loved, and that's enough.
i've spent my house-sitting xmas going to museums, living in history and watching life imitate art. you can see the results here:
for the new year i wish you nothing but good luck. that's all we truly need.
love, wayne
