The Picture is much larger than the Exposure

Art is the meeting of unconscious minds.

I am not entirely sure why I would want to be creative. Why I want to be creative.

I think that it is self-defeating -- most happy individuals will not feel the need to be creative, and most successful artist will be happy. Perhaps that is why the truly great artists are not appreciate in their lifetime -- if they had been, they would not have been compelled to greatness. (I will never be a great artist, but I hope to contribute something.)

Am I too old to start this? Many artists started later, but I may not have had the proper mindset over the last ~12 years. I guess I just cannot wait any longer.

Do I have the imagination for this? I guess, I can try. Not all of art is imagination, and if I can add my own take and rely on the imagination of others.... Well, I will try not to be derivative.

Why? Am I unhappy? Often, but I do not imagine that this will help with that.

I will be dead someday. There will be a me sized void in the universe after that moment. Not a large void, and not one that was noticed for the billions of years before I was _______. (Conceived, born, gained consciousness, created memories?) Perhaps some of that void can be filled by my words -- even the smallest amount of matter will fill a void, very sparsely. Counterpoint: W.A. said "I don't want to gain immortality through my work. I want to gain immortality by not dying."

Favorite self-quotes:
Art is the meeting of unconscious minds.
Happiness is the absence of pain.

Things I enjoy:
Books (Non-fiction (science/philosophy) + fiction)
Television ("Firefly," "Wonderfalls," "24" right now)
Movies (Cannot wait for Serenity)
Music (Sirsy, Matchbox Twenty)
Photography
Women (This shouldn't go in the blog)

Wonderfalls
What when a TV show
Small but perfect in itself
It's put on brief, goes out
To join others on the DVD shelf.

Can we mourn its death
Or doubly praise its life?
The dearth of soul now on-
Air, crushes delight.

What who is to blame? Square-
Ly on its creators.
Even as they create
Life, they're cremators.

Should we mourn its death
Or doubly praise its life?
It's gone and gone and onl' be back
In our imaginative might.

What how did this come to pass?
Why lay this mockery bare?
There must be some way for to live
Not under death's stare.

Would we mourn its death
Or doubly praise its life?
It's we, who carry it with pain,
who should feel contrite.

What what.

--

I could definitely use a laptop. To write this with some semblance of my normal writing situation. This feels so alien. Ironically, if anyone is reading this, it is after I typed it into this damn blog.

What do I want to say? Life is suffering? You try to do good, positively inserting yourself into others' lives, and accepting them doing the same. And this makes death infinitely more painful.

Death of something of value = pain
Pain = unhappiness
Unhappiness = Desire to create something of value to push it away
Creation leads ineveitably to death.

The one question is: Does this form a feedback loop?

While getting a bottle of cool water ($1.25 for 8 oz) and Rice Krispie Treat (yuck - 1/2 bite and it was in the trash) at the local Starbucks where I am scribing this (54th and 1st), I decide that the answer is no. Every normal person, even while acknowledging the inevitable, is able to put it off to tomorrow. Proust's terror might strike me in the wee hours, but come morning I am a stronger man for 16 hours. Our powers of self-deception are legendary.

I suppose this is my first real blog entry. It does not sit well with me. I am not an open person. Luckily no one reads this.

I cannot see the stars for the light.

Later, at Taksim:

I like eating here while reading, but I think it is too loud for writing.

Why do I rarely use straws? They are generally a waste, both economically and for the environment. I only use them for coffee frappachinos.

Groucho Marx was right, of course. I don't want to be part of any club that would have someone like me for a member.

I was wondering at one time, in my childhood, that, if I lost someone close to me, would I grieve? I lost all my grandparents, although only my paternal grandmother while I was young, and they were all painful but none of them hit me on a guttural level. However, what about my immediate family? I still do not know (thank goodness, as you would only really know when it happens), but just ruminating on their deaths causes me to sob, particularly during those periods of Proust's terror. I am not scared of death. As some ancient philosopher said, where death is I am not, and where I am death is not. But I am terrified of loss. I hope that I never have to deal with it, but I still have to worry about my reaction. After a lifetime of anticipatory grief, I am afraid that I will at some point have to harden myself against it. But it is not healthy to harden yourself against that grief.

Am I so shallow that the prime mover is beautiful women? Probably equal parts with my previous discussion.

[stuff deleted - don't ask]

I have trouble with my photography. I cannot remove myself from the scene. The picture is much larger than the exposure.

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I think that I am only attracted to lesbians. I am not attracted to them knowing that they are lesbians, but 99% of the time I discover it later (not that way). I attribute it to Marx.