8-26

I went for a walk in my suburban New York City town. The disgust of the SUVs and traffic overwhelmed my gag reflex instantly. I started on a thought process of the how impossible it is for one to truly find peace in an American suburb, and how delude these peoples’ lives are, and every other pseudo-artistic cliché perspective on American family life. Maybe I belong in the woods alone. Or maybe I belong in Manhattan where the noise cancels out the noise, which cancels out the noise, which cancels out that noise, etc. I decided to forge on. As I made my way to a small pond in the nearby woods I came across a family- mother, father, grandmother, and 3 children. All fishing, and all silent. Only myself and the lone, angel feathered white stork I sussed out on the edge of the pond were observing this. I knew then that I was in the perfect place.

Invisible Majority

There are far too many invisible moments in our existence- or so we perceive. In order to tolerate the loneliness of that invisibility it is adapted to as a comfort. I justify it as solitude and a retreat from humanity’s wretch. The fact that we are ignored as artists as well as humans is something I am forced to consolidate in my mind and heart. I am so constantly dismissed I create a pattern that makes my lack of significance concrete to me. It must be universal. Is it really? When asked for my personal contribution on anything, why would I ever assume it will have any more of an impact than it had in the past. Why? Because I realize not one thing in this universe does not impact the whole.