Dec 14, 2004 10:19
I sit and smoke and stare at an outdoor ashtray in front of a service station marveling at how the kitty litter holds straight the half-smoked cigarettes at exactly the angle the freezing hands crammed them there. It's clearly a modern zen garden. It is a six by six inch disgusting polluted forest that functions as a warning about what I am doing to myself and what's left of nature.
I sit and smoke and stare in a window where a bicycle is on display. I wonder about what person is still interested in those things and whether I would wish to meet them. I ponder the connection between a man staring at a wanted item through a window, the item being completely ignorant of the hungry eyes taking in its form, and my constantly think about a single person.
I sit and smoke and stare at the ground with a song in my head. It is heartfelt and based in a much truer emotion than I have felt in a long time. I wonder if one can not truely appreciate a song until they have felt what the artist felt when it was written. Maybe one can, and the whole purpose behind art is to express something about life, just in case you missed it.
Early paintings were used to show the glory and magnificence of who ever was painted, just for all those people who never got to see them. Maybe love songs are actually for those who don't have any love of their own, just so they can die having felt like a lover for three minutes.
So I will use common things. I will integrate everyday feelings into my writing, and try to mix them. Like a painter, I will sit and stir just the right amount of contentment, commitment, depression, and rage. It will make the perfect color to express my life and my experiences in the far-off hope that there will be simething worth knowing about in those things.