rambling on desire……

The baby on the floor is surrounded by toys, but all she wants is that which is out of reach. We are born to covet what we don’t have, and it doesn’t go away with age. Desire is an evolutionary instinct that’s responsible for our prolific and diversified gene pool, and more then enough food on our plates. I wouldn’t make it your purpose in life to covet a neighbour’s wife in the name of a diversified gene pool, at 7.4 billion I think the pool is deep enough. Desire has a bad reputation but it’s saved our species. At the same time it might be the instinct exploited by corporations that will drive us to extinction. Desire creates healthy competition, gives us energy to excel at a passion, the want to be a better person and ability to experience pleasure. A favourite quote of mine is “desire leads to suffering” I feel like I’m seeing for the first time, that might be bullshit. It’s not the desire, but the inaction towards what we desire that leads to our suffering. Suffering is static. Suffering is the recognition and reflection on our own stasis in a circumstance we may feel powerless to do anything about. We are suffering at the hands ourselves. Our own cowardliness to make decisions in our life, instead we wait for things to happen and decide for us. The best things in life come from people being dissatisfied with circumstance and life and doing something about it. Dissatisfaction can ignite the id and fuel creativity, channelling dissatisfaction into action. Wow i sound like a motivational coach. I am not a motivational coach. Is the need for instinct becoming extinct? Will one day everything we want be within our reach, having no need to reach towards something we perceive better. Our instincts will become obsolete, as our desires become more manufactured. As much as technology is supposed to improve our society it has created a culture of the dilute and shallow instant gratification. There is danger of having desire and fulfillment in such close proximity all the time. Instant gratification has it’s place but getting Mcdonald’s delivered to wherever I happen to be, I can do without. Every answer, every food, a plethora of sexual experiences perceivably at our finger tips..numbing our instincts with too much choice, and killing our ability to resolve our own suffering and experience desire beyond the functions on our smartphones. Is technology shaping our evolution or evolution shaping our technology? From now on when I find myself telling my kids to be happy with what they have. I will instead challenge them to take action to resolve their complaints, and then take my own advice.

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What the *F* boys got right….

The title of my book (for now) “Invitation to a Funeral”, is like putting a roof on my house, under which words shall be arranged, rearranged and rubbish brought out to the curb. The minor structure becomes significant as it’s shaping a goal for myself. To complete a novel. Success defined not by publishing but the act of completing a readable long story. It’s as much about the cliche journey as the cliche destination. For myself anticipation can be better then the end result. I find food mostly looks and smells better then it tastes. The seduction can be better then the deed. The deed better then the relationship. It’s what the fuck boys got right……..I digress, really a roof on a house is not minor at all. Does the name of a book carry that much weight? Being that books are renamed and relaunched, I guess so. A price change or relisting a house, makes you think. Excuse the house metaphors, but we are currently in the process of selling/buying, you guessed it, a house. By the way, if you are even thinking of buying a house in Stratford Ontario, consider it was once called the the meth capital of Ontario. Just putting that our there. My life right now is busy. So busy in fact I rarely get a chance to commit myself to writing to more then a few minutes a day. This goal of writing a novel has the potential to take decades at the rate I’m going. I’m spending more time ‘writing about writing’ then writing the elusive novel.  I like to keep busy though. I want to think about anything, except maybe one particular thing……. how vague and mysterious. And when I find myself alone with my thoughts, I use them to fuel my creativity. The secret to saving yourself, stay busy, distracted, creative and if a moment of cruel clarity comes to you, use it, don’t let it use you. But what does that even mean? Where does the act of using begin and being used end? I don’t know either. Like most things you need one to have the other. Who am I writing this for anyway? Well easy, me. If anything, it’s my therapy. Who am I posting for? That’s more complicated. The same people we all post for on social media. For each other. We’re all fucking peacocks now, showing our feathers. Warhol did say we would get our 15 minutes, social media however has created the most dilute version of it. Who wants to drink that kool-aid? All of us apparently.

The Outlaws (Crash) (Lyrics)

Just cause she’s your sister

don’t mean she ain’t sinister

Just cause you’re her brother

you don’t have to love her

 

I can be your first

I can be your last

I can make you crash

I can be your first

I can be your last

I can make you crash

 

I’m just a minor threat

don’t care what your sister said

Don’t listen to your mother

I’m unlike any other

 

I can be your first

I can be your last

I can make you crash

I can be your first

I can be your last

I can make you crash

 

When all we wanted was to be

a great big happy family

but baby you learned to take

soon you’ll be my best mistake

*i need a stranger, a little danger*

 

I can be your first

I can be your last

I can make you crash

I can be your first

I can be your last

I can make you crash

*On the wheel,  against the dash*

 

I can be your first

I can be your last

I can make you crash

On inspiration…

No Picasso it’s not nice to steal other’s ideas. Although we do, don’t we? I would say intention matters…but writers steal overheard conversations, details of other’s lives and make it their own. I suppose it’s processed through their own filter, at least that’s how I interpret it. Being an artist also gives you a super cool license to do whatever the fuck you want, at least until you want to start making money. “Inspiration does exists, but it must find you working” says Picasso. I say “inspiration exists but it must find you prepared” Maybe there is no such thing as owning an idea except in a legal sense. I recently submitted pitches for a satire website and afterwards I scrolled their web page and found two similar headlines that they probably thought I tried to mirror. Unless I had seen it and subconsciously mimicked,  it wasn’t intentional. Although the articles were vastly different, the headlines and subject matter were similar. Let’s hope the other  pitches I sent are unique enough from anything they’ve published. In this case intention doesn’t matter….

The real work of the artist is not the creating, but the polishing. This is what separates the amateurs and the heavy weights. When you are coming down from the exhilarating high of inspiration, there waits for you a diamond in the rough. The honeymoon is over. You want to believe your baby is perfect. You swaddle and coddle the fuck out of it, but that doesn’t change a thing. Sometimes you just have to put the idea baby down for a while and come back to it later. You want others to see what you see, to fill in the gaps and turn your head inside out so people see the world you have created. Or if you’re like me you become a ‘cat lady of ideas’ , taking in every stray idea and soon my head is filled, unorganized. I can’t seem to give any one idea the love it deserves, so they all kind of suffer, they fail to thrive. To be successful you don’t need many ideas, you need to be disciplined and dedicate yourself to at least the ideas that can work together on a project. Who said “the application of knowledge is wisdom”? I have the knowledge but not the discipline. After the honeymoon it becomes work. I suppose I’m just in it for the cheap thrill, being seduced over and over again by the siren song of inspiration. Not all of us are meant to be authors, some simply writers.

magic

Beauty caught the eye of the beholder
He melted her on his tongue
and in a moment
he wondered where she’d gone

Awaking to find himself
calling her form to the aftertaste
with the empty mold
coming face to face