Saturday. Life has seemed complicated these last couple of years, the aching sinuses and head making me think about art and life and the end of things; the job morphing into something called “retirement” which, whether you think you have the wherewithal to retire or not, adds to the stress. Change, in other words: from where, to what? Questions that need to be addressed deep down where words don't work and other forms of sensibility hold sway, questions “they” need to work out in “their” own way on “their” own terms on “their” own schedule.
And maybe I had a flash this morning, a thought whatever “they” need to work out is coming to resolution.
Well, in retrospect this is stretching it, but I've been seeing some of the pieces that have been out there on their own unattended floating back into orbit. I've started carrying a notebook again to make notes - pin down interesting combinations of words, mostly, that come and then leave if I don't write them down - and experimenting more with the photography, available light stuff at slow shutter speeds of the kind you see at the top. Nothing earth shaking in and of themselves, but a clear step out of the day to day fog that's become my existence.
This has been happening over too short a time to be predictive. One day you feel better for whatever reason and the world is aglow and the ladies smile and the next morning you relapse and the world is, well, lost “in a fog”. Up one day, down the next in hip hop time. Something to do with deficit disorder perhaps, one of life's little gotchas you can read about over breakfast in the morning paper.
As a reader how do you interpret “living in a fog”? Quite a range there: “living in a fog”. Everything from swacked out on a morphine derivative to feeling funky before your first cup of coffee in the morning. Where does the writer's “living in a fog” fit into the reader's own sense of it? Same with “Deficit Disorder” (we may as well use capitals here, everyone else does). What degree, deedle-dee-dee, of disorder? What's the difference between Deficit Disorder and getting tired of the day to day crap you've lulled yourself into over the years and you're getting antsy, ready to cut and run?
Now, now. We are getting along in years. No cutting and running until your hear a starting gun.
“And then one day you find ten years have got behind you, no one told you when to run, you missed the....” Guns? Here in Oakland?