graceland's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Art of Thinking Things are all mixed up in my life, but I guess that's good because I would never pursue change on my own. Dealing with relationships is something I am not good at. I can't seem to communicate, so instead of trying, I give up. At least, that's what I did in the past. I'm not giving up right now. There's a relationship, a deep friendship, that I would like to maintain but right now it seems like a higher power doesn't want that to happen. Timing was never my thing either. My timing is often for shit. And you can't force timing. And this brings me to my third point, I was born without patience. I have no patience whatsoever. I want everything to happen right now, right this second, or not at all. And unfortunately, other people don't work like that. My life right now is trying the last shred of patience I may have stockpiled. *~* So what's new? I've been listening to a lot of Brazilian and Cuban music lately. Sergio Mendes, Wanda de Sah, that type of thing. Also some funk, like Shuggy Otis. I'm really feeling that. I've really been feeling the dance lately. Going out and dancing. Talking to strangers. I met a huge Chezch the other night. He looked a bit like Viggo Mortgensen and I was immediately drawn in. His hair was thick and brown, all one length and almost to his shoulders but not quite. He was so big he had to both bend to speak with me and somewhat bring his broad shoulders inward. His skin was slightly leathered from the sun. He was an artist. A drunk artist. I could barely understand what he said, his words were weighted by his accent and the alcohol, but I understood who he was as soon as he spoke. I heard him say to my cousin, "You are nothing. I am nothing. That's why we are here. We are nothing." I'm not even sure why she asked him what he does, I knew immediately he was an artist. We spoke for a while. I made him do the work. I know my frustrated artists. I know they speak when want to do and expect the word to follow their lead in this. "What do you do?" he asked. "It doesn't matter," I responded. He looked at me quizzically. "What I do is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things (and here I flit my hand around our heads)- me, you, life, this conversation. It is trivial. It doesn't define me." And so the dance began. The dance didn't go far because he was too drunk for me to be interested in continuing. He was stinking drunk. It did, however, make me think. These are the men I am attracted to. Men with an artistic bent. And after thinking about it, examining it, loathing my predilection for the troubled artist, I realized that it doesn't have to be this way. I fight myself all the time, battling my desire to be with the literal artist and instead trying to make myself fit into this cookie cutter woman that I think will solve all my problems. I pretend that I am like my friends - happy with the thought of marrying some guy who works at a Wall Street firm. Living in the house in Westchester, giving him head on Friday nights and cooking his meals every night, having his babies and sending out picture perfect photographic Christmas cards of our family. Making myself fit into his world and then becoming so miserable with this scenario that I bail out of my social life and hide in lockdown for weeks. I don't know why I can't let go of the notion that that isn't going to be my life and that's ok. And then I realized something. I can have some of that. The parts that are important to me. The man that I love and our children. What will make me happy, is the metaphorical artist. I don't have to suffer in squalor and raise my children in a squat. There are artists out there in steady jobs. They aren't just bartenders and they aren't just drug addicts and drunks. It's not necessarily their actual product that attracts me - it's not a painting or a song or a novel - it's the artistic thinking bend of these men's minds that capture me. They capture me because they are what drives me as well. My art is for shit. My painting is mediocre, my harmonica playing is entertaining at best, my writing is not masterful. But I am doing all of that. My mind craves an outlet for everything that goes on in there. I want the same out of a partner. I want someone who feels music like I do and is connected to it. I want someone who has a curiousity about the world and the people and cultures in it and wants to experience new adventures. I want someone who is freer with expression than I am and will help elevate my consciousness in that regard. I want someone who reads and becomes so passionate about a book or a movie that they are compelled to dissect it with me. It's not so much the art, it as it is the art of thinking that I want. 10:40 p.m. - 2004-02-09 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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