Tuesday, April 7, 2009


Applying salve to cracked lips, putty in tack holes and resulting chips, wood glue for the split chair I fell backwards in the other week.  Lots of temporary fixes for what are chronic issues, structural weakness that need to be address more forthrightly.  But it is cheaper to spackle over it for now.  

I look at the various hobbled together things around me and wonder if it might just come crashing down at some point.  The car won't accept anymore mileage, the shelf no more books and junkmail, the favorite shirt has no more washes before the threads loosen at the seams to rags.  

And what of the internal?  This must be just along winded a metaphor right?  I am not sure.  For as much as I feel I am waiting for some important moment, and the waiting feel tedious so the year seems to have zipped along.  Here we are in April.  But I did break a chair and then jimmy-rig it into its current state of functioning with glue and sheer counter-force.  It works just fine and you can barely tell I smashed it in an ill-advised attempt to "lounge" in a cheap Ikea pine straightback chair while calculating numbers for applying for unemployment.  

Now I have a job and a chair that works.  So what's my big problem?  Here we must go back to the larger structural components and themes.  I do something I enjoy and am actually quite good at, but it is not what I dreamed I would be doing at this point.  Just more compromises because I don't have enough leverage to go for what I really want.  I have too much to give, too much to wonder about, too much to learn to keep pushing the putty back and forth.  

Tonight I told AM I am going to start studying for the GRE.  It is time.  I may not apply to schools by the end of this year, but at least I am going to have the GRE done.  I haven't a clue how we will work out me at school, but if I can deal with constantly chapped lips, broken furniture and this intense longing to do what I am meant to than it will work out.  Hand me the duct-tape and spray-paint.   

The further away from art you get, the less definite the lines, light, and brushstrokes are; however, you lose the sense of individual work and person behind each movement.  Which way do we each want to be seen?  I'm ready for my close-up.  Just let me grab my chapstick real quick...

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