Sunday, January 02, 2005
January 1, 2005
Writing the date seems so strange. It is technically the 2nd, but I haven't slept yet. Work and new year's celebrations have gotten the sleep schedule slightly off-center. The bright side is I am off tomorrow.
I am off tomorrow, and I haven't made any plans. Well, OK, I sorta had, but I am cancelling them. And now I am as free as I want to be.
I found a picture of the tattoo I want to get. Or at least, the inspiration for the tattoo I want to get. I'm going to try my hand at drawing it myself. It was a painting on the wall at a party I went to last night. Beautiful.
I'm going to leave its description as plain as that. Maybe when I get it I will post a picture ...
I read two books this week. On the bus. I take the bus to work now, and the morning rides have already become sacred to me in a way.
When I finished Heartburn I was left with a familiar feeling. The same feeling I've gotten from Nick Hornby books, and my favorite songs and movies. And every Death Cab for Cutie song.
I find it interesting that so many different works of art and writing can convey, and bring out from within their receivers, patterns of emotions that resemble each other so much. Like strands of DNA from collective consciousness.
I thought about how divinely human it is that we can do that. That we can project it, and receive it. And we have the technology to do it even across distance and time.
It's fascinating: that lyrics from a song and a painting or a novel can produce and reflect nearly the same complex emotional responses and feelings.
It is something that is beyond words, beyond the stories that are told. It is an essence of sorts. Essential to humanity.
And it is almost like we do it for ourselves. Because it nurtures us.
Now, this is not an uncommon thought, I know. It is one argument that is used to try to turn the tide of the devaluation of art forms in the face of the rising importance of science and math as seen through the eyes of a capitalistic, money-based, culture -- a system that works together in some respects as if free thinking were absolutely inconsequential to its purpose.
And then I thought about the things we seek out. The emotions we feel deep within ourselves regardless of the change of seasons, regardless of the time of year, regardless of what time it is.
And I thought that maybe those are the pictures of ourselves. The ones I was looking for, when I mentioned the memories and photographs. Maybe they are replications of ourselves made through our own will.
I've often said before that art is an expression of human life. I think we could all agree on that. But this thought takes that one a step further. It makes it spiritual. It makes it holy.
And in a way, it makes it seem narcissistic. Creating all these mirrors. Buying books and movies and singing songs that expose and reflect the truest foundation of what lies underneath the exterior make-up covering the evolutionary self. Matching up themes. Matching up something deep within our own existence and far too complicated to explain with words.
I'm still thinking about it. And probably will for awhile. But I really do find it fascinating. I already said that, but I do.
Writing the date seems so strange. It is technically the 2nd, but I haven't slept yet. Work and new year's celebrations have gotten the sleep schedule slightly off-center. The bright side is I am off tomorrow.
I am off tomorrow, and I haven't made any plans. Well, OK, I sorta had, but I am cancelling them. And now I am as free as I want to be.
I found a picture of the tattoo I want to get. Or at least, the inspiration for the tattoo I want to get. I'm going to try my hand at drawing it myself. It was a painting on the wall at a party I went to last night. Beautiful.
I'm going to leave its description as plain as that. Maybe when I get it I will post a picture ...
I read two books this week. On the bus. I take the bus to work now, and the morning rides have already become sacred to me in a way.
When I finished Heartburn I was left with a familiar feeling. The same feeling I've gotten from Nick Hornby books, and my favorite songs and movies. And every Death Cab for Cutie song.
I find it interesting that so many different works of art and writing can convey, and bring out from within their receivers, patterns of emotions that resemble each other so much. Like strands of DNA from collective consciousness.
I thought about how divinely human it is that we can do that. That we can project it, and receive it. And we have the technology to do it even across distance and time.
It's fascinating: that lyrics from a song and a painting or a novel can produce and reflect nearly the same complex emotional responses and feelings.
It is something that is beyond words, beyond the stories that are told. It is an essence of sorts. Essential to humanity.
And it is almost like we do it for ourselves. Because it nurtures us.
Now, this is not an uncommon thought, I know. It is one argument that is used to try to turn the tide of the devaluation of art forms in the face of the rising importance of science and math as seen through the eyes of a capitalistic, money-based, culture -- a system that works together in some respects as if free thinking were absolutely inconsequential to its purpose.
And then I thought about the things we seek out. The emotions we feel deep within ourselves regardless of the change of seasons, regardless of the time of year, regardless of what time it is.
And I thought that maybe those are the pictures of ourselves. The ones I was looking for, when I mentioned the memories and photographs. Maybe they are replications of ourselves made through our own will.
I've often said before that art is an expression of human life. I think we could all agree on that. But this thought takes that one a step further. It makes it spiritual. It makes it holy.
And in a way, it makes it seem narcissistic. Creating all these mirrors. Buying books and movies and singing songs that expose and reflect the truest foundation of what lies underneath the exterior make-up covering the evolutionary self. Matching up themes. Matching up something deep within our own existence and far too complicated to explain with words.
I'm still thinking about it. And probably will for awhile. But I really do find it fascinating. I already said that, but I do.
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