Writer's Retreat
After returning from the Writers Retreat in Seven Springs, I bunkered down in BK's new apartment in the South Side and we watched four episodes of Six Feet Under. The show is fucking brilliant, but that's not what I want to say (though you should all know it). The one episode had a long lost aunt return and play the complete opposite to the mother (the aunt's sister). The daughter of Ruth, not the aunt--Sarah--goes to visit her aunt up in the valley. And there she witnesses a fucking baccanalia--orgy. Poets and artists and washed up hippies trying to regain their youth smoke pot, eat mescaline and shrooms, consume quantities of liquor such that a horse would drown in, and fuck. It was very much like this week. Minus the shrooms and mescaline and the attempt to regain youth (which we've already got in spades).
There was fun had in quantities that, if measured in liquid volume, would have drown Andre the Giant. There was much drama. But then, we are artistic folk, prone to fits of emotion that border on violent in their swings.
But anyway you swing a dead cat, you'll find that we enjoyed ourselves immensely. New friendships were formed, old ones reaffirmed, undecided emotions swayed in one direction or the other, relationships forged, if only temporarily in the seclusion of an artificial and unsustainable reality. Many knew appreciations for work we'd never appreciated before, or work we always loved and discovered anew (like Shel Silverstein who grows more brilliant as we aged, and whose work is so heartbreaking in it's beauty and richness) were developed.
I'm a bit fah-klemphed. The reality of life is once more upon us, and a good number of us are facing it in a new and naked way. For four days we hid out amongst ourselves and our passions and indulged pleasures that, to a certain extent, we must keep in check because of college, life, jobs, what have you.
But anyway. I've got a smile that you could blast off with dynamite on my face which is slowly caving in to the pure and soul cleansed exhaustion that comes of being so completely and utterly at peace with everything.
Back to the rat race ... right after this ...
"Sometimes I feel the fear of
uncertainty stinging clear
and I can't help but ask myself
how much I'll let the fear take the wheel and steer
It's driven me before, it seems to have a vague
haunting mass appeal
lately I'm beginning to find that I
should be the one behind the wheel
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
with open arms and open eyes yeah
whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
I'll be there
So if I decide to waiver my
chance to be one of the hive
will I choose water over wine
and hold my own and drive, oh oh
It's driven me before, it seems to be the way
that everyone else get around
lately I'm beginning to find that when I drive myself
my light is found
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
with open arms and open eyes yeah
whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
I'll be there
Would you choose water over wine
hold the wheel and drive
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
with open arms and open eyes yeah
whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
I'll be there"
--Incubus, "Driven"
There was fun had in quantities that, if measured in liquid volume, would have drown Andre the Giant. There was much drama. But then, we are artistic folk, prone to fits of emotion that border on violent in their swings.
But anyway you swing a dead cat, you'll find that we enjoyed ourselves immensely. New friendships were formed, old ones reaffirmed, undecided emotions swayed in one direction or the other, relationships forged, if only temporarily in the seclusion of an artificial and unsustainable reality. Many knew appreciations for work we'd never appreciated before, or work we always loved and discovered anew (like Shel Silverstein who grows more brilliant as we aged, and whose work is so heartbreaking in it's beauty and richness) were developed.
I'm a bit fah-klemphed. The reality of life is once more upon us, and a good number of us are facing it in a new and naked way. For four days we hid out amongst ourselves and our passions and indulged pleasures that, to a certain extent, we must keep in check because of college, life, jobs, what have you.
But anyway. I've got a smile that you could blast off with dynamite on my face which is slowly caving in to the pure and soul cleansed exhaustion that comes of being so completely and utterly at peace with everything.
Back to the rat race ... right after this ...
"Sometimes I feel the fear of
uncertainty stinging clear
and I can't help but ask myself
how much I'll let the fear take the wheel and steer
It's driven me before, it seems to have a vague
haunting mass appeal
lately I'm beginning to find that I
should be the one behind the wheel
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
with open arms and open eyes yeah
whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
I'll be there
So if I decide to waiver my
chance to be one of the hive
will I choose water over wine
and hold my own and drive, oh oh
It's driven me before, it seems to be the way
that everyone else get around
lately I'm beginning to find that when I drive myself
my light is found
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
with open arms and open eyes yeah
whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
I'll be there
Would you choose water over wine
hold the wheel and drive
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
with open arms and open eyes yeah
whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
I'll be there"
--Incubus, "Driven"